


Part Two: You Can't Get a Man with a Gun

by laridian



Series: A Gun For Barns [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Mild Language, One Night Stands, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Rating May Change, characters and ships added as they appear in the story, shipping starts in later chapters, ships will change, will Gunnar and Boone get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-10-12 00:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 38,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laridian/pseuds/laridian
Summary: The continuing adventures of amnesiac courier Gunnar Volk and his companion Craig Boone, with occasional guest appearances from other characters around the Mojave.New chapters posted on Monday and Thursdays.





	1. Now It Can Be Told

Shoot the hostages?

"We could rescue them," Gunnar said.

Ranger Milo shook his head. "I'm not risking all these men to save those three. They're nearly dead as it is."

"Let me go down there," Gunnar argued. "There's got to be a way."

"There isn't. But as soon as the hostages are dead, the Legion doesn't have any leverage, and we can open fire."

 _But if you could open fire anyway, why wait?_ Gunnar squared his shoulders. "Boone and I will take a look. Don't shoot until you confirm the hostages are dead."

~ ~ ~

As soon as they were out of earshot, Gunnar half turned to Boone. "We're not killing them."

"No."

"We're going to rescue them."

Boone nodded. "Mercy killing shouldn't even be a last resort."

Gunnar gave Boone a sidelong glance, but then ducked as a bullet zinged by. The Legion had seen him. 

~ ~ ~

Gunnar probably could have cleaned out all the Legion in this town by himself. Maybe. If he was careful and sneaky and somehow silent. But it helped that Boone was there and wanted vengeance.

"Cover me." Boone would see and dispatch any remaining enemies faster than Gunnar could hope to. Gunnar took a knife and cut loose each of the crucified men. "Can you stand? I'll help you." Three of them, but at least two seemed able to make it under their own power. If Gunnar helped the third, Boone could watch from the rear.

A Legion mongrel rounded a hillock and came at them, flecks of foam dripping from its mouth, before its head exploded with a single rifle shot.

~ ~ ~

All three hostages made it back. They'd need help, and medical attention, and Gunnar did his best to provide it. "This will keep you going until you get back to your camp," he told them. They were NCR, and tough, but there was still a limit to what the human body could take. "See your doctor as soon as you can."

"I guess this makes you the hero, and me the fool," Ranger Milo's voice said behind Gunnar.

Gunnar, still kneeling beside one of the wounded men, turned to look up at the Ranger. 

"I didn't think you could do it," Milo said. He didn't sound angry.

"We did," Gunnar said. "And I'd do it again. I can't leave someone like that." Not again. Not after he'd seen the first crucifixions, of the Powder Gangers. It wasn't that many days past. 

"I suppose not. Did you leave anyone alive in that town?"

"No Legionaries, no sir."

Milo nodded, and left. Gunnar supposed that now the NCR would move in. He hoped Milo hadn't forgotten about the payment. Sure, Gunnar would do this without pay if he had to. This was saving lives. But he could use the money, too.

~ ~ ~

Milo hadn't forgotten. He slipped some supplies to Gunnar as the latter was preparing to leave with Boone. Supplies were better than nothing, Gunnar decided; it meant one less resupply trip later.

Boone had been even less talkative than usual, and tense, ever since the pair had rescued the hostages. He and Gunnar walked in silence until they were the only human beings in sight for miles around.

"Boone."

"NCR policy is not to leave our prisoners alive in Legion hands," Boone said, before Gunnar could continue.

Gunnar waited a little bit, then asked, "Is that what happened to — "

Boone stopped and faced Gunnar. "I saw her," he said, his voice never rising, but intense as flame. "Through my scope. They were _selling_ her."

"You — " Gunnar didn't want to put it into words.

"It was better that way than what they would have done to her." Boone turned to keep walking.

"You killed her." Gunnar hadn't moved. Boone stopped but didn't turn back.

"You killed her. Didn't you? Because of _policy?"_ Gunnar said, more loudly. "NCR says kill the prisoners so the Legion can't use them against you. What kind of policy is that? You could have rescued her!"

"No I couldn't!" In a heartbeat, Boone loomed over Gunnar, who refused to back down. "I couldn't save Carla. There were too many. I would've died and she would've stayed at their mercy."

"You killed her and killed your child!" Gunnar shot back.

"I know this!" Boone hissed. "This is my death, and more death is coming to me. You'd be better off going your own way." He turned again, but Gunnar grabbed his arm first.

"What the hell do you mean by that? 'This is my death'? That you're being punished for something? You could have at least tried to save her, and the baby! You had that choice, Boone!"

Boone snatched at Gunnar's hand and gripped it like he was moments away from crushing it in his grasp. "Don't talk to me about choice," he warned. 

They glared at each other for long seconds. Gunnar gritted his teeth against the pain in his hand. "But we rescued these people," he said, not breaking eye contact. "And by God, I would try anything to rescue someone I loved."

Boone suddenly let go, pushing Gunnar away at the same time. "You don't know anything about love. You don't even know who you are."

Thunder boomed, almost on top of them. They hadn't noticed the incoming storm. Lightning crackled in its dark green depths.

"Radstorm," Gunnar said, unnecessarily. They had to get shelter, fast.

The argument postponed, if not forgotten, they sprinted for a tumbledown shack near the edge of the old road, and made it in just as the first drops of rain spattered in the desert soil.

The hut was a single room, probably a guard shack or maybe just a stopover; didn't look like it was pre-war. There were enough holes in the walls to force them into the center of the room, where the radiation and rain wasn't likely to reach them. This also meant they sat close to each other. So they did, in seething silence.

Gunnar took out his diary and pencil, but it wasn't really light enough inside to write properly, not with the storm and the twilight. Instead he wrote _Boone is an ass_ and shut the book.

~ ~ ~

The fall of rain was comforting, lulling. Gunnar knew he should stay awake, but inside it was warm and dry, mostly, and nothing would move during a radstorm. Except maybe Boone if he was feeling suicidal.

Gunnar half dozed off before that thought came back to him. Boone had killed his wife and unborn child. If Gunnar had had to do that… he'd have a very hard time living with himself.

He fell asleep before he could think farther on it.


	2. Someone to Watch Over Me

Diary:

_This Pip-boy thing has a flashlight built into it. It's also clunky and a pain in the butt to use, but it's also pretty useful. So._

_Writing this by flashlight since now it's nighttime (PB has a clock in it too! weird) and Boone is sleeping. Radstorm ended but the ground is still wet and we should wait for things to dry out a bit, so we don't get the dirty water on us. Sure, you can drink it if you're desperate, but._

_Boone needs help. I think his wife's death, at his own hand, that's devastating. He's out of the NCR and he's sworn to kill as many Legion as he can before he dies. And he's probably ready to just walk into their main camp and go down fighting._

_if I'm to be a Follower, I need to help him, even if he's hard to live with sometimes. It's probably not his fault. He was probably a lot happier, and healthier, when Carla was alive. But NCR snipers are strong. They don't show weakness. I don't know yet how to help him, but I will. What kind of Follower would I be if I only helped the easy cases?_

_Yesterday we argued and one of the things that just came back to me: I yelled at him for making the choice to give her a "mercy killing". But I killed that "Fantastic" junkie back at Helios, because_

_Because he was being an ass about the equipment. Because he knew nothing about it, didn't care, was just trying to run a scam and didn't care about actually learning anything. But I still killed him. That… was probably wrong. There were other options. But that's the one I took, out of anger and high emotion._

_Boone thought he was doing the right thing. I don't know. I have to get him to talk some more, if I can, and try my best to help him. For his own sake. So he doesn't hurt so much any more._

~ ~ ~

When they were both awake and had eaten, and the ground was dry enough to be safe, they walked north. Neither brought up the argument.

Gunnar checked the compass in the Pip-Boy. 

"I know which way to go," Boone said. "If we're going back to Vegas."

"We are."

More walking.

"Tell me about this NCR policy," Gunnar suggested. "What's the purpose behind it?"

Boone hesitated before speaking. "When prisoners are tortured," he said, without great enthusiasm, "it's to demoralize us. It's to break our spirit, when the Legion breaks their bodies." He pressed his lips together before continuing. "When prisoners are being tortured, we're to mercy kill them, to keep things from getting worse. To spare them more pain, and keep the Legion from using it against us."

It made an awful sense, Gunnar thought, but he still didn't agree with it. "So why hadn't the Rangers done it yet to those three we helped?"

"Not everyone likes the idea. And those are Rangers. They joined the NCR, or the NCR absorbed them; same thing. I didn't see any snipers among them. You saw how fast the Legionaries started shooting at us when we got into range. Those prisoners weren't mercy killed because nobody was there to do it, until I showed up."

"You're not NCR any more." Boone had left the service, Gunnar remembered, and married Carla. "So they couldn't order you to shoot them."

Boone nodded, his face dark against the starlit sky.

They walked on.

"I'm glad we could save them," Gunnar said.

"Me too."

~ ~ ~

They kept walking into sunrise. It was still beautiful, the sunrise, Gunnar thought. The old empires came and destroyed themselves and went, and people lived and died, and the sun and moon and stars kept going. World without end.

Dawn was also the time to start hunting game. If there were any cactus fruits around here, Gunnar thought, he could make something of that. He could make a sort of "desert salad" out of greens and cactus fruit, if he could find them. Morning was best, they'd be freshest, but it wasn't light enough yet. Instead he stuck to the road while Boone left it, stopping by an old truck. It was the only landmark around, and Gunnar wasted no time seeing if there was anything even remotely of value that hadn't already been looted.

He came up empty-handed. The desert had worn down quite a bit of the vehicle. Uncounted strangers had done this same task, and some of them had carved names, or dates, or other things into the cracked plastic parts. The glass and mirrors were long gone, too.

Gunnar almost sat in the car, but then remembered how easily these things blew up, and decided to stand a little distance away from it, just to be safe.

There was the distant sound of a rifle, then again, and it was light enough now that Gunnar could begin foraging. Boone returned with three geckos, plenty for breakfast and probably lunch too.

"We'll get back to Vegas and Camp McCarran," Gunnar said as they ate. He'd found some greens he knew were safe to eat. "But this is a lot of travel for this kind of work. We need to get more money."

"You need money," Boone said.

"Fine. We can ask at McCarran if there's any Legion work we could pick up."

"If the Legion gets across the Colorado, the NCR won't be able to hold them," Boone said, looking north. "They should be patrolling for Legion scouts and raiders, like the ones burning towns and killing people. The NCR's spread too thin now, and everyone says the Legion's massing for a big push."

"Do you think they are? Or maybe it's just what the Legion wants people to think?" Gunnar looked north too. Someone traveling, coming their way. Not hostile, or at least, not yet, from the look of them.

"I don't know. The Legion's strong, and the NCR…" Boone sighed. "The NCR's strong too. But if we want to hold the dam, we should — they should — set up better defensive lines."

"Why'd you leave? The NCR, I mean." Gunnar looked at their food. It might be traders coming, or someone who needed a meal. If so, he'd share.

Boone stood up and walked a little ways north.

"Boone?" But it seemed Boone was done talking for now.

~ ~ ~

Diary:

_Some NCR travelers today, heading south. We talked, I shared our food._

_It sounds like there's more work to be done down south. We're closer to where they're going than to Vegas, so we'll travel with them, and see what we can do about Legion in that area. Then back to Vegas._

~ ~ ~

 

"Where do they get these?" Gunnar waved an apple around.

"Doesn't matter." Boone stood from finishing off a Legionary, the blood gurgling into the desert soil.

"It does. These apples aren't native to the Mojave. But they're really good." Gunnar bit into it.

Gunnar and Boone had split off from the NCR and gone searching on their own. They explored a mine, which someone was still trying to make work, and buried some corpses at a burned farmstead. The occasional Legion raiding squad proved what Boone had said, that the NCR was too thin on the ground here.

~ ~ ~

 

"Why is the road closed?"

"Sorry, nobody's allowed past here. Your best bet is to head north to Novac," the NCR sergeant said.

"What happened here?"

"Legion snuck in a bomb, a rad bomb, and killed almost everyone. The whole camp's irradiated. Don't go in." The few remaining NCR troopers had installed warning signs in a line.

"A…" A rad bomb. How could they —? If they could —!

"We'll go," Boone said evenly.

~ ~ ~

"If the Legion can create atomic bombs, they'll destroy all life that's left," Gunnar said. He'd kept talking for twenty minutes now. "But that shouldn't be able to know how. Even I don't know how."

"How do you know you don't know?"

Gunnar paused for breath. "I just — I just do. And this can't happen, Boone. We can't let them do that."

"Maybe they found one that hadn't been used."

"After two hundred years?"

Gunnar didn't notice traps or enemies at the best of times, and now he was rattled, especially since the air here seemed thick somehow. They'd gone in a circle northeast around the town, to avoid the radiation, but not far enough, as ghouls in tattered NCR uniforms leapt from behind some rocks.

Boone saw them first, as usual, and with the ease of long practice he swung his rifle over his shoulder and fired. Gunnar jerked away from the gunshot and nearly into the claws of the ghouls.

Pulling his pistol from its holster, Gunnar fired quickly, blindly, and didn't know whose shot killed it. He looked around. Where was Boone?

"Boone!"

The sniper was hot on the heels of the last ghoul, chasing it back into the town. 

"Boone!" Gunnar screamed. He leapt the old, broken-down fence around the town and followed. The Pip-boy crackled to life: he was in the radiation zone. 

"What're you doing here!" Boone snarled, as he killed the last ghoul.

"What're _you_ doing here!" Gunnar yelled back. "We've got to get out of here! Come on!"

He kept up a stream of scolding as he grabbed Boone's arm and nearly dragged him off his feet. "This town's radioactive, remember?! Do you want to die so soon? Come on, soldier!"

They ran back to the fence, climbed over it, and Gunnar kept running, hoping to get him farther away.

"Slow down!" he heard Boone snap. "You're safe now!"

"What about you?" Gunnar did slow down, then realized his lungs were on fire, and stopped, leaning over with hands on knees to catch his breath.

"What about me? You're likely to run into another bear trap or a radscorpion," Boone said. "Walking into a pack of ghouls — "

"Like you're better, chasing them into a hazard zone!" Gunnar stood and faced Boone squarely. "What if you're radiated? We need to find shelter and — "

"You're bleeding," Boone said, his voice quiet.

"I — oh." There was a gash on Gunnar's leg. He hadn't felt it at all. Now he did.

"Let's find shelter," Boone said.

"Right. Then I'll, I'll bind this up and check us both for rads. I've got a little Radaway I've been saving."

Boone put an arm around Gunnar's back, so Gunnar could lean on him, and they left the destroyed town.


	3. A Little Bit Independent

"Wait."

Gunnar stopped and looked back at Boone. Sometimes he wondered if the sniper let him go first so he could set off mines and traps, or draw fire. "What is it?"

"I should tell you… we're getting close to a Legion slaver camp." Boone's eyes were unreadable behind his yellow-tinted shades. "If we get close enough, I'm going to kill everyone wearing red, and you can't stop me."

Gunnar nodded. "Thanks for the warning." Though he had no love lost for the Legion, Gunnar didn't want to go down fighting just yet. "We'll scout around." Then he thought: how does Boone know we're near a… oh. That was why.

There was an overlook here, on the old broken road, with some rusted-out campers and boarded-up cabins. "Why don't you stay here," Gunnar suggested. "Find out if any of these cabins are safe to stay in tonight. I'll go look around."

"You'll get killed."

"I'll be careful. Really." Gunnar took off his pack and looked through it. "I've got a couple of Stealth Boys. I'll use them when I have to."

"Fine by me."

~ ~ ~

"Sergeant, we found a Legion camp down by the river," Gunnar said. The river itself had been amazing. Huge, blue, with sandy cliffs around it, and he'd gotten a sudden crazy urge to run down and jump in the water. It was probably radioactive as all hell and who knew what was swimming in it, but the thought still lingered: that beautiful expanse of water…

He came back to the conversation. "We knew there was a Legion camp around here," Sgt. Astor said. "But with most of the Searchlight troops killed by the rad bomb, we can't make an assault on it. And even if we could, what we really need is intel. Blowing up this camp just means they'll make another one farther on."

"I could try," Gunnar said, ignoring the snickers from the troopers. "Look, what do you have to lose? I don't look NCR or threatening. I'll nose around."

Astor laughed. "Boy, they'll chew you up and feed you to their dogs! But if you want to give it a try, I can't stop you."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar and Boone were back at the overlook. The camp below was neat and orderly, some older cabins and some newer buildings, including a two-story job. Guards with dogs patrolled the area. A dock stretched into the water.

Where were the slaves? Gunnar wondered. Maybe they were rounded up, brought here and shipped out using the river. That would prevent most of them from escaping Legion territory. His eyes searched the camp but he didn't see any. 

"Watch out for bear traps," Boone said, as Gunnar stood and checked his pistol.

"Real funny. I'm more worried about those dogs."

"You smell bad enough, I'm sure they'll think you're one of them."

Gunnar paused. Had Boone just made a joke? The sniper looked as impassive as ever. "At least I have enough sense to stand upwind of _you,"_ he pointed out. 

Now a ghost of a smile crossed Boone's face before disappearing again. "Just be careful," he said. "I don't want to have to make the choice."

Gunnar took a deep breath. "Yeah. I don't want that either. Thanks."

~ ~ ~

Using a Stealth Boy, Gunnar had successfully infiltrated the command building. The Legionaries spoke — what was it — he _knew_ those words, _knew_ that language — but he forced himself to not think about it, to focus on the mission. 

They all seemed very dedicated, in the way that any organized depravity can be, and Gunnar suspected they could even be fanatics. When you saw what happened to your enemies and those you could overpower, why wouldn't you be loyal? Which meant they'd be incredibly dangerous, too. 

_Don't think about that. Or the crucifixions._ Think instead about sticking to the shadows and trying to avoid any contact with anything, human or canine or furniture.

At last he found the commander's office, and looked through the papers as fast as he could. He hoped these were right, because the Stealth Boy wouldn't last forever. He quietly folded the papers that looked most correct and slid them inside his undershirt. They'd probably get dirty or moist, but less likely to be detected than just emptying his pockets. He hoped.

He hadn't thought how the points on the pages would be so irritatingly poky.

Now to get out of the building — yes — get downstairs — yes — get to the edge of the camp before the stealth wore off — 

— no. Too late.

"Who're you?"

Gunnar stood up straight and smiled, hands out and open to show he was, at the moment, not hostile. "I'm just a trader passing through," he said, hoping he was friendly enough and not so friendly as to cause suspicion. "I don't normally come this far south but I'd never seen the river and wanted to look. I've got some good buys, though, if you're interested?"

~ ~ ~

They wanted the dynamite. Gunnar didn't especially want to sell it to them, and increase the chance it would be used against him or anyone else, but he had to keep up the trader aspect now.

"So what do you have in exchange? Caps? Stimpaks? Fruit? Slaves?" he asked. He'd love to get a line on where those apples came from, and what that other fruit was. And if any slaves were here, he'd have to report that, at the very least.

"We've got slaves but they're not for sale. They're going across the river. How about some stimpacks?"

~ ~ ~

In the end they settled on a mix of bullets and three pre-war books that Gunnar recognized he could use, plus a dozen apples. Gunnar thought it was well worth it for two sticks of dynamite. Of course, not being an actual trader, he probably got the worst of the bargain.

He hightailed it out of the camp as fast as he could, back to where Boone was hidden. On the way, he turned and looked back. Yes — just behind that tall building, where they couldn't be seen from the overlook, there was an area enclosed by chain-link fence. That must be the slave pen. He'd have to get them out… somehow.

~ ~ ~

Boone wanted to attack the camp immediately. "I know what they do to people."

"We have to get this back to Searchlight," Gunnar protested, removing the itchy papers from inside his shirt. "And I want to know if Astor's heard anything from the NCR. I don't want to interfere if there are any plans."

Boone snorted. "There won't be. The NCR can't spare anyone. But we can make it there and back within a few hours, if we hurry. Just remember, anything happens to those captives, we could save them right now."

"They won't kill anyone, there's no point to destroying merchandise," Gunnar said, and hoped he was right.

~ ~ ~

Sgt. Astor was thrilled to get the plans. "I don't suppose you can take out the camp, too?" he suggested. Boone's impassive face somehow said _I told you so._ "We can get to them eventually, when we get more men in the area."

Gunnar shook his head, a sinking feeling in his chest. "No, we'll do it. We'll figure something out."

~ ~ ~

"How did the NCR ever get this far?" he complained on the way back.

"NCR originally was just coming east. Settling. Expanding. People complain about the taxes, but they forget what it was like without anyone keeping order." Boone could keep up this pace for miles, much longer than Gunnar could.

"I thought the NCR was all army."

"No. It's a country. What's left of the nation, is how they tell it. But we've had to put so many men in the field that that's all people here know of us. And we had to put troops in the field because of the Legion. It's not like there aren't threats along our other borders."

"So you were born and bred NCR?"

"Yes."

"How'd you become a sniper?"

"I did good on the firing range. Pay was better."

~ ~ ~

Boone and Gunnar lay at the edge of the overlook. Boone had his scope to his eye. "Nope. Can't see the slave pen at all from here. They moved it."

Probably after last time, Gunnar thought. When some sniper killed one of the slaves. "We have to get them out."

"Unless you plan to sneak up behind them and stab Legionaries in the back, we'll have to fight our way in and out."

"Yeah. I guess that's what we'll have to do. I don't want to throw the rest of the dynamite down there, I don't know what else might blow up or kill anyone, including the hostages."

"You'd drop it at your own feet."

"I'd drop it on your feet." Gunnar felt a little nettled at the repeated slurs on his ability, but now wasn't the time to bring it up. He got to his feet. "Let's go. It's dark enough and at least some of them might be asleep."


	4. The Flaming Sword of Liberation

Boone didn't stop. He was a killing machine, oblivious to danger, and Gunnar tried to stay to the side and draw fire, to keep alive so Boone could kill Legion and not die in the process. This meant Gunnar had to not die too, but he was good at that so far. He'd already died once, hadn't he?

"There might be one or two left," Boone said, when it seemed to Gunnar that everyone not penned up had been killed. 

"Then keep watch while I try to get the prisoners out." The lock was too complicated for Gunnar to figure out, especially in the dark, but someone had to have a key.

"Please! Help us!" a woman's hoarse voice whispered.

"I'm trying, Ma'am. I'll get you out as fast as I can." Gunnar began looting corpses. Legionaries didn't have pants pockets, but they did have small side pockets and pouches to keep things in. 

"Bless you."

"Are we getting out?" Sounded like a teenage girl, maybe a little older. "Please hurry. If they come back — "

"How'd you get here?" Gunnar asked, going to the next body. He spared a quick look at Boone, who stood out in the open, as if daring the world to come at him.

"We were coming south when they caught us," the woman said. There were three of them, a mother and her two nearly-grown children. "My worthless coward of a husband turned and ran. He got away. We all wanted to be away from him, but not like this."

"He was bad to you?" Finally, a set of keys. Gunnar began trying each in the lock.

"He was a sonofabitch," the boy said. "I hope he's dead."

"So I guess you don't want to find him." The lock sprang open, but the people didn't move. "What's wrong?"

They pointed to their necks. Gunnar risked the flashlight. Explosive collars. Probably the control was nearby and if they got out of range they'd die. "Maybe one of these keys — "

It was, to all of their relief. The collars were set on the ground, too dangerous to take with them. Now the family left the pen.

"You should go to Novac," Gunnar said. "We can escort you west to Camp Searchlight. Then take the road north until you reach Novac. It's far enough away from here you should be safe. Boone, c'mon, we're — "

Boone fired into the camp and they heard a cut-off scream. 

"We should get going," Gunnar continued, sounding calm to reassure the family. "Boone. C'mon."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar took point, as always, and Boone brought up the rear, and they escorted the family back to Searchlight. 

"Can you take us to Novac?" the mother asked.

"I don't know that we're going that way." Which was true; he hadn't planned yet. "But that's a lot safer than around here, between the radiation and Legion raids."

"I know, but — we saw what they do to people there. What they do to women." Her voice dropped. 

"Were there other slaves?" Gunnar asked. "Do we need to go back?"

"No. The others are dead. The ones they decided couldn't be sold, or fought too much — they were — given to the Legionaries to use."

She said nothing more, and neither did Gunnar.

_They were selling her._

_I know what they do to women. I couldn't let her suffer through that._

~ ~ ~

Sgt. Astor was out on patrol, so they couldn't give an official report until he returned. Gunnar gave the family some supplies, including three of the apples, to get started on their way. The troopers let Gunnar and Boone use one of the tents to rest in. Gunnar's leg was bothering him a little, from the ghoul gash, and he was glad to lie down a while.

It wasn't quite dark in the tent; the dim green glow of the nearby town filtered through. On the way back, Gunnar had seen the big tower with the name _McLean_ on it. That was the name of the town, he guessed, maybe even the pre-war name, because nobody would go to that effort to paint the name of the town like that nowadays. Probably.

"Boone?"

Boone grunted in reply. Not asleep yet.

"We did good work today."

Silence.

"I think I see now, what you meant. About the Legion. And you're right, if they come through here, we're sunk."

More silence. Gunnar rolled to his back and tried to make his leg comfortable. It wasn't quite bright enough in here to write, and he should do that as soon as he could, so he didn't forget. So much he had to remember. At the same time, he wasn't really ready for sleep yet either. "Why'd you go to Novac after you left the NCR?"

He heard Boone also shift, on his own mattress. "I got out, I met Carla… Manny asked me to come to Novac with him. We did."

"You and Manny were friends, right? Squadmates? He was your spotter." Gunnar remembered that much from talking to Manny Vargas, up in the dinosaur.

"Yeah."

Something about that didn't sound good. "But not any more." Manny had said something about Boone's wife, they didn't see eye to eye…

"No." There was a long pause before Boone continued. "When I told him she was gone… he tried to hide it, but I saw it, just for a second. He was glad."

"I'm sorry," Gunnar said. "That it happened."

He imagined Boone shrugging, like it was no big deal. But it was. Good friends, then a woman comes between them. It sounded familiar, sort of. _Maybe I've read that or seen it happen before._ So he'd lost his wife and his friend, all at once.

And something else, about Manny Vargas… "Were you and Manny at Bitter Springs?"

"What do you know about that." It wasn't a question.

"I heard about it. That there was… that some bad things happened there."

"I was there. There was a… miscommunication."

More like a massacre. Innocents involved, from what Gunnar had heard. That’s what Manny had said, back in Novac. "Sounds like a hell of a miscommunication."

"Yeah. Well." Boone sighed. "That's how they wrote it up in the report. A lot of people got killed."

Coyotes yipped in the distance. Gunnar put his hands behind his head and stared at the tent ceiling. "Do you think about Bitter Springs a lot?" This was the most Boone had talked about things in… maybe ever.”

"Yeah. Always. Even when I sleep."

So the massacre at Bitter Springs happened. Boone was there, Manny wasn't, it sounded like. Boone and Manny then left the NCR, Boone met Carla, Manny invited them to Novac… and the people in Novac had said Carla was hard to get along with. Jeannie sold Carla to the Legion — now Gunnar didn't feel nearly so bad about leading Jeannie to her death. 

All of that meant Boone was suffering, a lot, and being an NCR sniper, he wasn't going to show any of it to the world, ever. "Did you ever tell your wife about what happened at Bitter Springs?"

"No. …I wanted to. I just couldn't."

Gunnar opened his mouth to say something, but Boone spoke first. "I'm tired." He was done talking, and that was that. Though he had talked, Gunnar thought. It was a start. 

Gunnar still didn't feel that tired, but he must have been, because shortly thereafter, he slept.

~ ~ ~

At last, some recognition from the NCR, and some pay. All of that was good. Now all they had to do was escort this family to Novac, and then go to Vegas.

"I think I'll have to take on some of those Vegas jobs after all," Gunnar said to Boone, an hour into the escort duty. "I've got to be recognized up there, not just by the NCR. And this is a lot of traveling. Maybe there's some more local work."

"Probably."

The family didn't care if they ever met up with their husband and father — understandable; it sounded like he was the mean-drunk type — and Novac might be a good place for them to set up. It was peaceful, there were places to live, and maybe they could make a living somehow. If not, that was up to them. Gunnar felt like Novac was far enough to take them, especially since the mother and teens couldn't forage or hunt, so he and Boone were kept busy making sure everyone got fed.

One night, when the party had eaten everything provided, the boy asked Gunnar, "You used wine to cook with. You don't drink it?"

Gunnar shook his head. "Or any other booze."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me sick," Gunnar said, which was close enough. "But I can cook with it okay." Maybe an alcoholic's family naturally wondered about people who didn't drink. 

~ ~ ~

"Does it really make you sick?" Boone asked, after they were back in Novac, the family had been set loose to make their own way, and the two were now in Gunnar's motel room.

Gunnar, halfway through taking off his boots, looked up. "What?"

"Does drinking make you sick. The only time I saw you drink, you got… silly."

Gunnar colored. "Yeah, well." He took off his other boot and then his socks. Fresh air felt good after all that walking. "I think that was that ancient beer. I did try something harder, after I got healed." He put his fingers near, but not on, the site of the injury. "But it hurt me pretty bad. I guess because I got shot in the head."

Boone leaned back in the old pre-war easy chair by the little end table. "Figured you were just a 'dry' type."

Gunnar, sitting on the bed, leaned all the way back so he could lie down flat. Boy, did this bed feel good. "No. I don't know how much I used to drink, before, but I can't now."

"Maybe that's good. Drinking just makes you forget for a while. You've forgotten enough already."

"What about you?" This was dangerous talk, but — 

"Tried it. Couldn't forget."


	5. Playing for Keeps

"There's got to be some kind of bathhouse here." 

They'd returned to Vegas, and by now Gunnar felt like his clothes could crawl right off him. Of course, when in the field, you expected to not get much chance to bathe or keep clean. But he now really wanted to get a bath and a wash of clothes. There had to be some way to do it, even if it meant a basin and a pitcher and a lot of towels.

"Probably. The Kings control the water supply, you might have to pay them. Or if you have enough money, maybe a casino has something like that."

"More reasons to need money," Gunnar grumped. He scratched at his shoulder. 

"You must've been rich, then," Boone said. "To want a bath."

"If I were rich, why was I working as a courier? Maybe I just hate being filthy. Doesn't the NCR have showers?"

"Sure. If you're NCR. And stationed somewhere with clean water to spare for showers. The Mojave isn't known for lakes of pure water."

"I might take the risk if we find a pond that looks pretty close."

~ ~ ~

Diary:

_Back in the Vegas area again. I NEED TO GET CLEAN. This is disgusting. I think I've avoided fleas or lice or other crawlies but ugh. Will ask around and see if there's anyplace you can rent a bath or a shower._

_Meanwhile — found the clinic (not the Followers, an actual medical clinic). Found the Crimson Caravan company, picked up a small job from them — courier work! ha ha ha. Yeah had to take a bill to a scientist at McCarran, who then hired me to go check out a Vault. He's not a nice guy but… a Vault. That could have some important stuff in it. Something good. So besides pay and rep, maybe some side benefits, stuff I can loot and sell, and stuff I can learn._

_His lead researcher says others have looked for that Vault, and a friend of hers, who hasn't come back, so I'll keep an eye out there too._

~ ~ ~

"What's going on?" Gunnar scratched at his side, hoping he wasn't too obvious. 

"Lieutenant Boyd's interrogating a Legion prisoner," the guard said.

Boone lifted his head sharply. "Legion prisoner?"

"Yeah, that's what I said too. He's not talking though."

"What's special about Legion prisoners?" Gunnar asked.

"They're rare as unicorn farts," the guard said. "Legionaries commit suicide rather than get captured. Stand downwind of me, would you?"

~ ~ ~

"You stick out like a sore thumb around here. You sure you're in the right place?" Lt. Boyd lifted the cigarette to her lips and took a long hard drag.

Definitely time to clean up, Gunnar thought resignedly. Aloud, he said, "You're having trouble with a prisoner?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?" She exhaled the stream of smoke sharply upward. "This bastard's not talking, and he's our only real chance of getting recent information. Starting with, why he didn't off himself when we captured him and his thugs."

Gunnar looked past her to the window into the interrogation room. A long-haired Legionary in full kit, minus the weapons, sat under a light. He didn't look at all troubled. The sneer seemed permanently affixed to his face.

"Have you tried calling him nasty names?" he said, half joking.

"Real funny, Wastelander."

"I suppose roughing him up is an option." Gunnar hadn't meant that to be serious, either, but Boyd said, "I like the way you think. Have I said that yet? Problem is that the NCR frowns on using that sort of tactic. There are some restrictions still in place from President Tandi's administration. But here's my favorite thing about you — you're not in the NCR. Plus, for all this guy knows, you're completely insane. That's a winning combination."

 _Don't make jokes next time,_ he reminded himself. _NCR doesn't have a sense of humor._ Given that he had a growth of wiry beard, smelled like something a coyote rolled in, and a permanent part in his hair where the scar was, he didn't doubt that he looked out of his head, so to speak. "So what you want me to do is…"

Boyd smoked the cigarette down to the end before continuing. "I think if you rough him up enough and really put some fear into him, he'll sing like a New Vegas showgirl. So let's do this. When you're ready, I'll go in and give you a little intro. Then I leave the room and you make him regret the day he was born. We go back and forth a couple of times until either he talks or he can't move his jaw anymore. Either way we've had our entertainment for the day."

 _I'm not going to harm him,_ Gunnar thought. He left his weapons with Boone, who stayed well away; best not to leave that temptation lying around. "All right. Let's do it."

~ ~ ~

"Miss me, Silus?" Boyd had already lit a fresh cigarette. Gunnar wondered how much she'd pay for the carton Boone was carrying. Neither he nor Boone smoked, and they'd found old pre-war cigarettes a nice cash bonus from looting. Boyd pronounced the name sy-LOOS.

"I couldn't stop thinking about your neck," Silus' voice growled. "I was thinking about how it would look with a Legion slave collar on it. Do you know what I love about our slave collars, Lieutenant?"

"They're all the rage in high fashion," she drawled back, sounding bored.

Gunnar could see Silus and Boyd from his vantage point, and hear them, and he didn't like the man, just from the sound of his voice.

"I train my men to make sure the slaves' flesh bulges a bit around the top and bottom. Know why?" Silus continued. "If you fit it just right, their body never gets used to the feeling of wearing it. It cuts in just enough when they swallow or turn their head to remind them who they belong to. And it's that constant reminder that keeps them docile."

Gunnar's stomach lurched. _I know what they do to women._ The Legion scared him more, the more he found out about them. They were a nightmare army. No wonder people fled before them — 

He missed part of what Boyd said, until he realized she'd said her 'friend' was going to come in and speak with him, and her 'friend' wasn't docile at all. Gunnar squared his shoulders and walked in. He knew he didn't look imposing, like Boone, or menacing like — well — most menacing people. He was a courier and amnesiac, who could at least sometimes talk his way out of things. _Hope this is one of those times._

~ ~ ~ 

"What an ugly little worm you are. What pile of excrement did the lieutenant pluck you from, worm?"

"I think I'm looking at the only dung in the room," Gunnar said. Silus was handcuffed and had manacles on his ankles, so at least he wasn't likely to beat Gunnar half to death if he had a mind to.

"So what's your grudge against us?" Silus said. "Did we enslave your children? Slaughter your family before your eyes to teach you a lesson?"

Gunnar hadn't thought of an answer before Silus continued: "Whatever it was, I hope I was there to give the order."

Gunnar forced himself to stand casually. The man couldn't really do anything to him. _Get him talking. Get under his skin._ "Big talk for a guy who couldn't kill himself when he was captured. Aren't all of you Legion supposed to deprive us of your company?"

"Footsoldiers, sure. They're not supposed to think. They're just supposed to follow orders for the glory of Caesar." Kye-zar. _Latin,_ Gunnar thought. _That's the name of that language. And he's saying it correctly. Do I know it? How the hell would I know Latin?_ "But I'm no foot soldier. I knew I could escape captivity on my own, without revealing the tiniest iota of information to my captors."

 _He has buttons to push. Find them._ "Sounds to me like you were too gutless to follow Caesar's orders," Gunnar said, pronouncing it the same way Silus did.

Silus half leapt from his seat, restrained by the chains. "I'll show you gutless, you sniveling bastard! I'll spill your guts all over this room!"

"I don't think so." Gunnar didn't flinch away. "I think you're bluffing. In fact, I think you're a coward." He leaned in closer, having judged the reach of the chains. "How did a coward achieve the rank of centurion?"

"Coward? I've faced odds that would make your NCR soldiers piss themselves." Silus sat back again, but his eyes were cold with fury. _Gotcha, Silus._ "I've led charges against men with guns carrying only my knife, and I can tell you, it was _they_ who feared _me_. But suicide is a weak death on a battlefield. It says to your enemy that you fear capture. It says if you're caught you can be broken."

Which said a lot about the rank-and-file, Gunnar thought. "And if you can't go through with it, you look even weaker."

It was the nerve he'd been looking for. "You think I'm going to slit my throat for some megalomaniacal self-appointed dictator?" Silus spat. "I didn't work my way up to have it all be taken from me out of some irrational paranoia. Caesar's losing it. I believe that. He's been shutting himself in his tent. Privately, he complains of headaches. Whatever it is, it's affecting his ability to lead."

Whoa. That was new. If Caesar himself was falling ill, there was likely to be infighting when and if he couldn't lead any longer. Gunnar tried to look sincere and helpful.

Fortunately, Silus needed to vent his frustrations. "Time was essential for my mission, but we waited three days for him to dispatch us. Another of his headaches. Does that sound like a man in command? He has an operative planted in this very base, but does he use his agent to rescue me? No. He's content to have the agent spend his nights radioing troop positions back to our base camp. He knows I'm here, and he's left me to rot."

Gunnar hoped Boyd, or anyone, was listening. It couldn't be this easy. Could it? "You've been very helpful."

Silus spat at him, and this time Gunnar flinched, so it landed high on his chest instead of his face. "You're a filthy fucking degenerate,” Silus snarled. “I hope the Legion burns your wretched body at the stake when they conquer this place. Nothing I could tell you would do anything to stop that."

~ ~ ~

Lt. Boyd paid Gunnar a "consultant's fee." "Don't worry, we know he has more to tell us. And now we have to find that operative. I don't know how you did it, without leaving a mark on him, but — good work."

Gunnar thanked her, wished her good luck in finding the Legion op, and he and Boone left.

"Off to that Vault?" Boone asked.

"Not yet. We're going to get baths. I need to feel clean again."


	6. I Got Stung

Yes, there was a bathhouse. Yes, it was expensive. Gunnar traded all the alcohol he had in addition to caps. One hot bath, haircut and shave, plus laundry while all of the above was going on. 

Boone was less enthused. "I don't need — " he began.

"I'm paying for you, too. No point in me smelling like roses and you scaring away game and luring ghouls."

Boone grimaced but acquiesced. "You trust too much," he said, putting his non-laundry items in a locker, including his First Recon beret and sniper shades.

"They couldn't stay in business if they robbed their customers, or allowed other people to rob the customers." Gunnar jerked his head toward the guards in the locker room. "C'mon. Enjoy it while you can. For this price, it'll be a while before another one."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar ran his hands through his newly cut wet hair so it stood all on end. Good God, it felt so _good_ to be clean again. That must mean he'd been used to being clean regularly, before he'd died. Maybe Boone was right; maybe he'd been rich, or at least had regular access to water and soap. 

His clothes were clean too, and dry and still a little warm, which felt nice. Gunnar dressed and went to the mirror to comb his hair. He'd been nervous about allowing the barber to hold a razor that close to his throat, but damn if it hadn't been the best shave he could remember. Well worth it.

Now his hair didn't look brown-gray from dirt and dust, but its natural light-copper color. Gunnar tried different ways to cover where the bullet had struck, and finally just parted his hair there. The hair was always going to grow funny there, looked like, so he might as well make the best of it.

He whistled as he collected his things from the locker while waiting for Boone. Now they'd get started on that Vault hunt. "Boone! You look human again." Gunnar grinned. "I didn't think you'd shave your head, though."

"It's correct for snipers."

"You don't have to any more, Boone." Gunnar thought Boone had looked better with hair on his head, but to each his own. 

"I want to."

"Suit yourself. Hey, I think we should do this before we go to the casino. When we can afford it, I mean. I don't want to go in looking like something the robot dragged in."

"It has its merits." Boone didn't sound completely against the suggestion. Maybe he was thawing a little.

~ ~ ~

"The Legion needs to be stopped," Gunnar said. He shaded his eyes against the setting sun.

Boone grunted agreement.

"And they're going to win, aren't they? Unless they can be stopped. They're fanatics, and psychopaths, and — " Gunnar snorted. "Silus called me a filthy degenerate. He was half right, but talk about the pot calling the kettle black."

"What does that mean?"

"Eh? Which? It means he's the degenerate. Not me."

"He probably noticed something different about you."

Gunnar's thoughts raced. "Different?" 

"Yeah. You are."

"Oh." _He means because I know things and I don't want to attack people — right?_ From all accounts, the Legion would kill him on general principle. Burning at the stake, according to Silus. Was that punishment for different crimes than being crucified? For being "different"? "But you're fine with that, right? Me being — different?"

"Sure. Doesn't bother me."

That was a relief, but only at first. _Are we talking about the same thing?_ Did he dare ask and find out? No. Better not.

"There's one apple left," he said. "If you'd like it, you can have it."

After several steps, Boone said, "Sure."

~ ~ ~

"Shit!" Gunnar shrugged out of his pack and began emptying it.

"Gunn. Listen to me." Boone's steady voice helped a little to take the panic off. He cut away the fabric of Gunnar's pant leg close to the knee. "You'll be okay."

It was hard to believe that when the poison was burning up Gunnar's leg. He found the antivenom-tourniquet and whipped it around his leg above the poisoned area. The skin of his lower calf was already blotched red and blue.

"Good. You've got it."

"Shit! It hurts — "

"Yeah, it does. Okay, let it do its work."

Gunnar gritted his teeth and waited for the antivenom to kick in. 

"How'd you know to make those?" Boone asked. Gunnar had spent an evening assembling some from plastic tubing and buffalo gourd seeds.

"I… I used to know how." The crushed seeds were doing their work, counteracting the cazador poison. "I mean, I still do, I just — I knew how. Before."

Boone nodded. "Good thing to know, however you learned it. Maybe more will come back to you."

"Yeah." Gunnar doubted it. He hadn't remembered anything from his before-life in a long time. 

~ ~ ~

They spent the night there while Boone retrieved pieces of metal from car ruins, and Gunnar fashioned them into greaves for his boots.

"You do seem to walk into things," Boone commented.

"I know!" Gunnar snapped. "Probably because I'm too damn trusting. I expect the world to be a good place. And I don't ever learn."

He finished attaching the metal to the second boot and tried it on. Not as flexible, to be expected, but maybe he'd avoid any more scars on his lower legs for a while. 

"You weren't a wastelander," Boone said at last. "Or a tribal. Or a settler. Not the way you are."

"No. I think I was a, a scientist or something. I don't know. I know things but I don't know that I know them until suddenly I remember them." Gunnar flexed his toes inside the boot and then removed it. 

"Maybe you came out of a Vault."

Gunnar considered. "It's possible. Maybe that would explain it." He looked up. "Maybe this Vault 22 will trigger some memories."

"Good thing we're going, then. What do you write in there?"

Gunnar had picked up his diary and a pencil. There was enough firelight to write by. "What happens to me every day. Things I think I should remember. Because if I forget again, I can go back to this."

"And today? What'll you write?"

Gunnar took a deep breath. "Heading to Vault 22. Got poisoned by a cazador. The antivenom worked, but had to stop and work on better armor for myself. Stuff like that."

"Sounds like a good idea." Boone stood and stretched. "I'll be right back."

"Sure." And other things, like names of people and places, directions, sometimes the frustrations of not remembering, or of not being part of this world. Maybe he had come from a Vault after all. Gunnar didn't want to hope for answers from Vault 22, but he did anyway.


	7. God's Gonna Cut You Down

Vault 22 was hidden away in the tall hills to the west of Las Vegas. It was evident as they made their way through the winding canyon that there was life here: not just the usual desert plants, but vivid green life, a bright spring green that felt cool to the eyes after the desert tans and dusty browns.

"Supposed to be a lot of people sent here to explore this place," Gunnar said quietly. "Including that researcher we're supposed to find."

"If it's a real Vault, and it hasn't been looted already, it must have good defense," Boone said, equally quietly. 

"And how come nobody's come to check out these plants yet. Harvest them, or even just investigate." Gunnar stopped to look at a cluster of plants. Purple flowers with purple-yellow centers. Tall spikes with golden yellow flowers. 

"Gunn? You okay?"

_Viola tricolor, probably hortensis. Hemerocallis Stella D'Oro._

"Gunn?" 

He was vaguely aware of Boone nearby. _I know these plants. I know them. These are pansies and daylilies and —_

He startled back to awareness when Boone touched him on the shoulder. "I know these," Gunnar said. 

"You remembered something?"

"I — no, not quite. Just that I know these. And those," he gestured to other plants, "those are dahlias, and those are — I know these, they're garden flowers. For color."

"Can you eat them?"

"Maybe?" Gunnar felt the memories slipping loose like water through his fingers. "But they're mostly to make things pretty. To make color."

"Are they dangerous?"

"They shouldn't be. Why?"

Boone had unslung his rifle and now gestured with his chin toward a sign some ways into the canyon. It read: STAY OUT!! THE PLANTS KILL!

~ ~ ~

This many plants meant a host of wildlife feeding on the plants. Giant mantises filled the bright green paradise, and even facing the barn gun, they mobbed the two men. At the end of it, Gunnar and Boone were scratched and bleeding, but alive.

"More like 'beware of mantis'," Gunnar said, referring to the warning sign. "But they don't live underground. Once we're in the Vault we should be fine. How's your arm?"

"Fine." Boone had used a stimpack on it, and the sleeve was still torn, but the flesh underneath was whole again. "I guess this is why none of those mercs ever made it back."

"Yeah. I'll… go first. Check for traps." 

Boone ghosted a smile. "You do that. I've got your back. But for the love of God, don't use the barn gun underground. Can you remember that?"

 _"Yes,_ Boone. I'll just plink away at bugs instead. Or talk sternly to them."

"More like talk them to death."

~ ~ ~

"Any memories yet?"

"No." The vault was enclosed and felt like a story setting — the obvious metal and concrete of the walls and floors, overgrown with rampant greenery. Plants had taken root everywhere they could, in a vault no longer maintained, and now sprouted from cracks and seams, from vents and walls. Some of the rooms had thin layers of soil made up of decayed plants. Nature always won out over Mankind's works, Gunnar thought, even here in a vault.

But mostly the vault felt dark and claustrophobic. That made sense. Whatever was powering the lights, the infrastructure itself was likely very damaged by all this growth, and the necessary water that probably leaked in from pipes or aboveground. So they made their way accompanied by the soft drip of water and flickering lights, or sometimes no lights.

They'd found evidence of Keely, the researcher, near the entrance. Being a ghoul, she might still be alive down there somewhere. Find the data, find Keely, get out of here, Gunnar thought. It sounded simple, but the vault wasn't easily navigable. The elevator was broken, and whole hallways and stairs were off limits from cave-ins.

They'd gone to the second floor down when they heard the noises.

Gunnar was accessing a still-functional terminal when he heard it. It sounded like someone else typing. He knew that computer keyboards weren't quiet at the best of times, but Boone wasn't one to mess with terminals. Gunnar looked around; Boone had his rifle out but no obvious target.

"You hear that?" Boone whispered.

"The typing?"

"That's not typing. That's something alive. Something's down here with us."

"Any chance it's people?" Gunnar got into the files. Still not the data he was supposed to retrieve, but it sounded like some nasty spore had gotten into the Vault population. _Man, I hope it isn't still active —_

"No. More like spiders or scorpions."

"Bugs, Mister Rico," Gunnar whispered.

"What?"

"I — I don't know." Gunnar shook his head. "Can you get a bead on them?"

"In the walls? Ceiling?" The noise came and went, and at the moment it was gone. "Did you get the data?"

"It's not here. We have to keep looking."

Boone exhaled noisily. "Let's make this quick. I don't like it."

~ ~ ~

"We're lost," Boone said hoarsely.

"We're not lost. We're in Vault 22," Gunnar said, trying not to let fear get hold of him. "We're on the third floor — "

"Fourth."

They looked at each other. 

"How can you — "

"You're — "

They stopped and backed against each other as the tapping-skrittering noise came back. Gunnar's flashlight made little difference in the dark hallways, they'd had to double back and travel through rooms, trying to leave a trail and going in circles. Gunnar knew he was all turned around down here; even aboveground he struggled with knowing which direction was which. 

"I don't like this place," Boone muttered. "We should get out and go back to the surface. The hell with this job."

Gunnar had no chance to respond as a distant _clang_ made them both jump. The tapping paused.

"What was that?"

"Sounds like something big fell down," Gunnar said. "Okay. Let's try this way. See if it gets us to the elevator. I'll try again to fix it. If it works, we'll go topside and catch our breath, then come back down. We have to find Keely."

"No one left behind. Is that it?"

"Yeah, it is. If she's trapped or lost down here, we should try to find her. We — "

The floor in front of them exploded with bugs.

Mantises, so many of them, some as long as Gunnar or Boone were tall, some only the size of a cat, and all of them voraciously hungry.

Gunnar fired into the mass, blowing off legs, wings, antennae, and kept firing, hearing the mad skrittering sound all around him, punctuated by the boom of the shotgun. The things bit into him, through his clothes, and he felt mad panic threaten to overtake him.

Then they were dead, or perhaps gone, and Gunnar resisted the urge to keep shooting. His ears rang and now he realized he couldn't hear anything else. "Boone?" he called, and his voice sounded distant. "Boone!"

He swung the light around, and found Boone against the wall, looking pale, machete still in hand and surrounded by dead bugs.

"Boone!" He was still alive and breathing, but he'd lost blood. Maybe the bugs had bitten him too much or too deeply. Gunnar pulled a stimpack and saw a mantis head hanging from Boone's side, jaws slick with fresh blood. Gunnar tried to pull it off and Boone grunted against the pain, biting his lip.

"Okay, Boone. I've got you. You'll be okay." Gunnar injected the stimpack into the side of Boone's thigh. He had some other things too that he could try. He opened his medical kit and brought out the only blood pack he had. Hope this works, he thought, attaching a length of plastic tubing to it. 

He pried the mantis head from Boone's flesh. Boone flinched, but held still as Gunnar poured clean water over the wound and packed it with gauze. Then Gunnar combined the empty syringe to the plastic tubing.

"We have to —" Boone started.

"I'll take care of it. I'll get us somewhere safe. We'll rest there." 

~ ~ ~

"Where are we?" Boone asked.

"The — barracks, I guess you'd call it. I found a room, that's where we are." There was another word for this type of room, but it escaped Gunnar at the moment. "Don't sit up yet. You're still healing."

"Anything to drink?"

Gunnar handed Boone a bottle of purified water. They had Nuka-Cola and some Sarsparilla Sodas, too, scavenged from vending machines, but the water would be better for him right now. 

"No one left behind," Boone said, like a toast, before drinking the whole bottle.

"Yeah. Uh, Boone…"

"Yeah?"

"You said something about Bitter Springs while you were asleep." Boone had passed out while Gunnar carried him away from the mantis hallway and to this room. Gunnar had gotten the sniper onto a bed and waited anxiously for him to wake up, writing away in his diary in the meantime.

Boone grunted.

"Is it because of Bitter Springs that you think you've got bad things coming?"

Boone was silent for a moment before replying. "Life has a way of punishing you for the mistakes you make. Big enough mistake, punishment can take a while. Mine's not over."

"How do you know your punishment isn't over?"

"Because I'm still alive."

"Dammit, Boone." Gunnar shook his head. "I'm not keeping you alive to punish you. I'm keeping you alive because — because, dammit, I don't want people to die! I don't want _you_ to die! You're — " He stopped, unsure what Boone's expression meant. He'd taken Boone's shades off after laying him out on the mattress. It didn't feel right seeing Boone's eyes. "You're too important to walk away from," Gunnar finished, and wished he'd said something else.

Boone turned his head to look at the ceiling. "You know that if you stay with me, it'll come for you, too."

"No, that's not what — Look. We'll rest here, heal up, find Keely and the data and get out of this place." Gunnar knelt by the bed and rested his elbows on the mattress, so he could look Boone right in the eye. "Boone. You made some mistakes. We all do. But you can make up for them."

"A murderer who does good deeds is still a murderer. And he'll still get his judgment. I left the NCR when my tour was up. Had enough of war. Decided I was gonna start over. None of it made a difference in the end." Boone handed the empty water bottle to Gunnar, who put it away and produced another one. 

"Drink up," he told Boone. "You lost a lot of blood and I only had one blood pack." Boone's words, here in this… jungle-dungeon, unnerved Gunnar. 

"You take out a debt, it's only a matter of time before someone comes collecting," Boone said, as if talking to himself. "Things just finally caught up with me. It was gonna be something. If I'd never met Carla, it would've been something else. I should've never gotten close to her."

"That wasn't punishment. It was wrong, what happened, but had nothing to do with Bitter Springs," Gunnar said. He opened the new water bottle. "Drink. I mean it." Gunnar lifted the bottle to Boone's lips. "All of it. Then we'll rest, I'll give you another stimpack if we need it, and we'll get things done here. Then we'll get out and go home."

"Where's 'home'?"

"…Maybe Novac. It's the closest thing." Gunnar sat back. "What's your first name?"

"What?"

"Your first name. You can't just be 'Boone', no other name."

"But you can be Gunner Folk?"

Gunnar paused to parse this. "It's Gunnar Volk," he said.

"Your family named you Gunner? That didn't work out, did it."

"No, I guess not." Though Gunnar wondered now if that really was his name. It was the first one that had come to mind when he'd woken up, and he said so. "So I think that's my name. Pretty sure of it."

"Sounds like tribals. The Gunner Folk."

"I… don't think so."

"If it is, it's no tribe I ever heard of," Boone said. "And you don't want to get closer to me, Gunn."

"Maybe we should go to Bitter Springs when we get out," Gunnar suggested, a little annoyed.

"I don't think so. It won't change anything. And that's a memory I don't want refreshed."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar found some Vault 22 uniforms and made bandage strips and clothing patches from them while Boone recovered. "And look at these," he said, showing Boone some vegetables. "They look safe to eat. This place was doing botanical research, and some of the food plants are still producing."

"What are they?" Boone sat up and gingerly pressed against his side.

"I think these are carrots. This is maize, just different from what I've seen outside. This is some kind of tuber. I'll take them with us and maybe I can find out more when I find a library or some of the right books."

"Fine by me. Now we just have to get out of here alive."

"We will, Boone. We'll get out. But not before we find Keely." Gunnar hefted his backpack onto his shoulders.


	8. Stars of the Midnight Range

"This is new." Gunnar stood by a door marked _Restricted Access_. "We haven't been here yet."

There hadn't been any more mantis outbreaks, though there were some weird humanoid-shaped fungus creatures in some of the thicker stands of plants. Those had left them alone, though as soon as Boone had realized they existed, he'd blown them to hell. 

"Can you get in?"

"I think so. Keep an eye out."

One broken bobby pin later, Gunnar had opened the door. The terminal here was different than the others. "I think this is it. I'll download the data. Then we find Keely and we're out of here."

~ ~ ~

"This is where the old Vault researchers broke into a cave system," Gunnar said. They stood on a ridge overlooking the cavern. Gunnar wished he had the time, and safety, to examine the rock structures. Stalactites and stalagmites, he thought, and flowstone, and — something was moving down there.

Boone saw it too. "Need to go down there?"

"We haven't found Keely yet. We'll do a quick recon and see if she's here. Can you get those… whatever it is down there?"

Boone looked through his scope. "Looks like more mantises. How'd they get so many?"

"The research discusses it. Apparently the mantises cannibalize if there's not enough food. But since we came in, they found us and decided we were better prey than each other."

"Nice." Boone aimed. "Cover your ears."

~ ~ ~

Down here, even the plants attacked them, spitting some kind of goo. Gunnar used the barn gun and Boone didn't chew him out about it, even as some stalactites crashed down; maybe this was because the rocks smashed the crawlies coming after them. 

They found the researcher Keely trapped in a narrow alcove. She was a ghoul, as Gunnar had expected, and she'd been trapped down here for three days, by her best account. "But now that you've cleared the way, we can take care of some things here."

"Dr. Williams sent me to find you," Gunnar told her. "I'm glad we found you safe."

"I'm glad you got here too, sonny, even if you nearly brought the whole cave down on us."

Keely told them of spores from these plants. "They're restricted by ultraviolet light, so I don't think they'll survive outside the Vault, and I've got some UV light setups in the upper floors. But the safest way is to burn it all out. And for that I'll need your help."

Boone gave Gunnar a look from behind his shades. Gunnar shot back a don't-say-it look. "Sure. What do we need to do?"

"The Vault researchers actually were on the right path with this — they recognized the spores as a problem too, and were about to sterilize the Vault, but they were too late. But everything's still set up to do it. I can control the gas release from my lab on the second floor. Your job is to ignite the gas down on fifth. And survive the blast, of course."

~ ~ ~

"I thought you wanted us to live," Boone said, as Gunnar studied the gas vent. From a safe distance, of course; they could already smell it, let alone see the distortion in the air. 

"I do. Which is why I haven't ignited it yet." That much gas meant a _lot_ of blast radius. They had to be out of the hallway. It wasn't likely Boone could shoot it and duck out of the way, and anyway, Gunnar wasn't sure that was the best idea; Boone might decide not to get out of the way. "What about a grenade?" Gunnar actually had two of these rattling around in Boone's pack. 

"Sure. If you can throw one and aim it the right way, and not get blown up."

Gunnar nodded. "This room," he said, walking into the Restricted Access room they'd visited earlier. "The door still works. Looks thick enough. If I throw the grenade, and we close the door, we should survive. The gas'll burn itself out quickly… I think."

Stay calm, he told himself. You can do this. Same as throwing a rock. An explosive rock that can blow you to bits and kill both of you if you don't do it right.

He held the grenade loosely. Pull the pin, not with the teeth, that's a good way to lose teeth, he remembered. 

He turned to face Boone, who stood well back in the Restricted Access room. "If I do blow myself up," he said, "I'm glad I've been traveling with you. You're a good man."

"You trust too much."

Gunnar turned away. Throw the grenade, get in the room, close the door, wait out the blast. That simple. Grenades had, what, three seconds? Five? Better assume three.

He pulled the pin, threw the grenade, and ran.

The door closed and auto-locked behind him. Gunnar kept running, and the force of the explosion threw him off his feet even through the door. But the door held, and after some long moments, everything was quiet. Gunnar got to his feet.

"Hope that did it," Boone said.

"Me too." Gunnar opened the door — no chance of opening it just a crack, it was all or nothing with these retracting Vault doors. No smell of gas. The hallway was blackened and the paint had blistered off, and any plant life was now ash. "Looks safe. Let's check back in with Keely."

~ ~ ~

"That's done it," Keely said, when they returned. "By the way, you didn't download anything while you were here, did you?"

Of course he had, but something made Gunnar check his immediate answer. "Download? Like what?"

"The data on what this Vault was researching. What else? It's too dangerous to allow out there."

Which was one of the Follower tenets, too, but… "No. I've been searching for you. Why?"

"The records show someone accessed them recently."

"We've been looking for you and wandering around lost in this maze," Gunnar said, nettled. "You said it yourself, you were trapped down there for three days and unconscious most of that. And we still have to get out of here."

"I guess…" Keely didn't sound completely convinced. "I've fixed the elevator, so you can get out that way."

"What about you?"

"I have to collect my things. Make sure the place is still safe. But you can tell Dr. Williams you found me and I'm safe."

~ ~ ~

The elevator took Gunnar and Boone right to the top level. "I'll be glad to get out of here," Gunnar said. 

"Anything familiar while we were there?"

Gunnar snorted. "If I grew up in a Vault, it wasn't like this. Not a, a nightmare."

The sun felt good on Gunnar's face after the artificial, flickering lights of the Vault. He tilted his face up, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth.

"Hey," Boone said.

Gunnar opened his eyes and looked at him. "Yeah?"

"I thought some more about what you said." Boone rubbed his chin.

"Okay…?"

"I think maybe you're right. Maybe I should go to Bitter Springs."

"Oh yeah? Good. Good." Maybe Boone was starting to improve. "What changed your mind?"

"Nothing. Dream. Just tired of thinking about it."

They began the walk back to Vegas.

"Okay. We'll make it a point to stop there." Gunnar wasn't sure where Bitter Springs was, but he could find out at Camp McCarran. 

"I hope this isn't a mistake." Much like Keely, Boone didn't sound convinced.

"It isn't, Boone."

~ ~ ~

They made camp that night, and after they ate and Gunnar banked the fire, he sat next to Boone, their backs to Vegas.

"All the stars," Gunnar said happily. "I don't get tired of seeing them."

"Really."

"Yes, really. Vegas blots out some of them because of all its light. But look — there's the Milky Way, see? It's a river of stars. All that light is stars. That's the arm of the Milky Way galaxy that we're in." Gunnar gestured with his arm. "We're on the outer edge of the galaxy, which is more stars than we can even imagine."

Boone chuckled. "Listen to you. You were a scientist. Had to be."

"Maybe." Gunnar kept looking at the stars. "Do you know any constellations?"

"I know how to find north."

"The pictures in the stars. See?" Gunnar pointed. "The north star, and it's the tail of the little bear. And over there's — " The name wouldn't come to his mind, like it had just slipped away. "The one I always thought was north, growing up. Even though it isn't. Because it's a winter constellation, so it shows up on winter nights… and it's a hunter, the enemy of the scorpion." He pointed to it.

"Where?"

Gunnar tried again, and finally knelt behind Boone so he could point over his shoulder, arm fully extended. "Okay. See there… that's his shoulders, and that's his belt. You can see the knife hanging from the belt. There's his legs. If you go from left to right across his shoulders, there's his weapon. See?"

"Yeah, I see it. I know that one, always thought of it as a sniper. What do you call it?"

Gunnar could feel Boone's warmth, smell the mix of gun oil and sweat and body. It was heady. He had to stop and focus before he did something stupid.

"It's a sniper to me, too," he said.

~ ~ ~

They were ambushed as they approached the outskirts of Vegas.

It was a team of Legion, well armed, fast, and deadly, and at the end of it both Gunnar and Boone barely escaped by the skin of their teeth. Boone in particular had been under the weather this day, and maybe that was why the confrontation went so poorly.

"They're after us now," Boone said through gritted teeth, as Gunnar checked his wounds. "After what we did at Cottonwood."

"Take it easy. We beat them." But just barely. Gunnar wasn't much better off than Boone. Worse, that bite Boone had taken from the mantis looked bad. Infected, Gunnar thought; red and angry and cause of Boone's ill health. "Look, let's get you to Camp McCarran or the Followers. We'll get healed up, okay? Boone, c'mon. That's it."

~ ~ ~

"We need more firepower."

Boone agreed. He was still under treatment for the infection. "The Legion isn't going to quit trying to kill us. They'll just send more, or better."

"And we have to sleep sometime." Gunnar said. "If it's agreeable to you, I'll look for someone else to join us."

"Be careful. Mercs only obey whoever holds the caps," Boone pointed out.

"I know. I'll be careful. I'll get back as soon as I can."


	9. California Rose

Boone and Cass disliked each other on sight.

"All I said was that sometimes it's the company that makes the journey, not the destination, and next thing I know she said she's going with me," Gunnar tried to explain, again, while Cass got herself a drink at the bar. 

"You met her at a bar. She admits she's a souse. I wouldn't trust her to shoot a barn," Boone said. He had a good figure for looming menacingly, but Gunnar was only an inch shorter and refused to back down.

"And I can't hit a barn without the barn gun, so I guess that makes us even," Gunnar said. "Anyway even if she _is_ a souse, I couldn't just leave her to live in a bottle. And she claims to be a crack shot."

"Because any money she doesn't spend on ammunition, she can spend on booze, is that it?"

"…Not exactly." Exactly.

Boone took a deep breath and exhaled noisily. "She's an anchor, Gunn. Just because you want to help everyone you meet doesn't mean you _have_ to."

"Boone, I'm not going to argue about this. At least give her a chance."

~ ~ ~

"What regiment did you pull Mister Tightass out of? He's got a stick so far up his butt I'm amazed he can walk."

Rose of Sharon "Cass" Cassidy didn't pull any punches, literal or verbal. She'd sold her family caravan business to Crimson Caravan and was now having a little buyer's remorse, maybe, or at least some questions. 

"Boone and I have been friends for a while now. He's a good shot."

"So'm I, but you don't see me being all grim and angry about it. Dude needs to get laid, if you ask me."

 _Oh boy._ "Cass, just let him be. I said I'd help you find out what happened to your last caravan, if you'd come along with us for a while. But if you can't get along…" Gunnar shrugged his shoulders.

"Fine, fine. You, I like. You're good company, Gunner."

"It's Gunnar — "

"So what kind of tribe were the Gunner Folk, anyway? Were they from up north?"

Gunnar counted to five in his head. If 'Gunnar Volk' wasn't his name after all, he really wanted to know where his brain had come up with it.

~ ~ ~

"This is all from energy weapons."

Cass' price for helping out was to find out what had happened to her last caravan; it had been ambushed, she was out of money, and that's why she'd sold her company and everything in it to Crimson Caravan corporation. Or, if other payment wasn’t available, she’d take Scotch, or whiskey, or beer, or cooking sherry or anything with alcohol, really, and Gunnar normally sold that rather than keep it around.

Boone stayed back and glowered while Gunnar and Cass inspected the third destroyed caravan. Every one of them had had piles of ash, the kind from laser or energy weapons.

"Only one place you can get those from," Cass continued. "Silver Rush has the weapons. But they've got no beef against caravans… but Crimson might. Get rid of the competition."

"I suppose it's possible," Gunnar acknowledged. "So — "

"Crimson Caravan and the Van Graffs… they were behind burning these caravans, and they've got to answer for them. I'm going to get some extra ammo, a few bottles of whiskey, then show them how Cassidys settle accounts." Cass produced a flask Gunnar hadn't known she'd had, and took a long drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Cass, no." Gunnar held up his hands. "Let's not — "

"What, you want me to go running to the NCR? To the casinos?"

"Well, the NCR, yeah. If they're really the law in this area, they'll crack down on Crimson and the Van Graffs both. That's illegal competition… monopoly…" Strings of words flashed through Gunnar's head in a mess.

"Are you okay, Gunn?" Boone asked.

"Yeah, yeah, just… Cass. Let's find some hard evidence. Okay? I know this looks open and shut, but we should make sure we've got the right culprits."

Cass laughed. "You're a funny-talking guy, you know that? Okay, we'll play it your way for a little while. But if you don't find some proof, I'm going in blazing. You got that."

"Sure. But we'll look first."

"That's what I said, didn't I? God, I need a drink."

~ ~ ~

"How're you going to get evidence," Boone asked, sort of, when Cass wasn't around.

"I don't know yet. There's got to be something. Crimson Caravan's a business, a big one. Maybe they've got something on paper."

"And they're going to hand it to you, you think?"

"No. I'll have to sneak in at night, probably, and look around when nobody's there."

"When that doc put your head back together, did he leave out the part with common sense?" Boone wasn't as brusque as he could be, though; or at least it sounded like it. 

"Boone, look." Gunnar ticked off reasons on his fingers. "We should do this according to law. If we can get evidence and present it to someone in charge, both of those companies will suffer for it. But if Cass shoots up Crimson or the Van Graffs, she'll either die, or start some kind of war or feud. They'll send assassins after her."

"And they wouldn't send them after you, if they find out?"

Gunnar laughed, briefly. "How many others have me on their hit list? I only know of Benny and the Legion so far. I wouldn't be surprised if someone else is gunning for me too."

"So you do this, and then what?"

"Just what I said. Get some proof. Take it to the NCR. They want to be the law in this place, they have to take notice and do something about it. Then maybe Cass will see reason."

"See reason about what?"

Gunnar jumped. Cass smirked. "If I were a snake, I'd've bit you," Cass said.

"If you were a snake, I'd have to get some hundred-proof snake oil to cure myself," Gunnar replied, with a grin.

"I like you," Cass said, grinning as well. "So you got some ideas?"

"Yeah, actually, I do. But I've got to do this part alone."

"Like hell," Boone growled.

Gunnar ignored that. "I'm going to sneak in and look for something at Crimson Caravan first. See what there is. Big companies run on paper and computers. They have to keep track of things. Even if it's some disguised expense, it'll be there."

"You really think so? Well, all right then. And what do I do?"

"You said you know how to make moonshine. If I get you the supplies, could you make some?"

"Keep me happy and out of the way, is that it?" Cass tilted her head to one side. "Who's it for?"

"I'd prefer you didn't drink it, because I need you sober and clear-headed for a while. But if I sell it, you get the money. And I'm providing the raw materials."

"And you want me somewhere safe and away in case things go bad for you, is that it?" Cass shrugged. "Okay, Gunner. Give me the stuff and I'll make you some 'shine that'll take the chrome off your buttons."


	10. I Guess I'll Get the Papers and Go Home

"I should go with you." It was three in the morning, inside the Crimson Caravan compound. They'd come in, saying they needed a place to spend the night, and paid for a couple of mattresses not nearly as nice as those in the Novac hotel.

"No. I'm less threatening if they do catch me, and I can talk my way out of it." Probably. "Best if I do this myself. Besides, if they do catch me at it and hold me prisoner, you can rescue me."

Boone scowled. "That makes sense," he said grudgingly. 

"Yeah, it does. Now I'll be back as fast as I can. Pretend to be asleep, just in case."

"You don't sound confident."

Gunnar paused. "More like… realistic." And his head felt full of noise. That didn't help at all.

~ ~ ~

He made it in, unlocked and poked around some desks before finding the safe, which should have been easier, but it was dark inside the building, he told himself.

Inside the safe were earnings reports, profit and loss, expansion plans… and an agreement between Crimson Caravan and the Van Graffs to eliminate the other caravan companies in the Mojave.

Gunnar took only the agreement. With luck, nobody would notice it was gone, and even if they did, his fingerprints — prints — He held his head in both hands for a moment, the noise roaring through. 

~ ~ ~

How long it took, he didn't know; but at some point the noise subsided and he could think again. He felt unsteady on his feet, though, and hoped he could get back out without seeming a hopeless drunk. Of all the times to need some booze, if only to splash on himself and make that a reasonable alibi.

"What's wrong with you?" Boone hissed when Gunnar stumbled back to his assigned mattress.

"Don't know. Dizzy."

"Lie down." Gunnar didn't have to be told twice. Boone made him drink a whole bottle of clean water and eat some homemade trail mix. "Do you have to go back there?"

"No."

"Good. We'll leave as soon as you're steady."

"Don't want to attract attention," Gunnar said, "leaving in the middle of the night." The water was helping, but then, lying down so the room didn't spin was helping too.

"I think if one of us is sick, they'll be glad to be rid of us."

Gunnar didn't answer, just kept eating and drinking. He felt tired now; maybe if he fell asleep, they'd stay until morning, then get out. Assuming nobody discovered he'd broken into the safe. He'd closed it, hadn't he? He'd locked the place back up, hadn't he?

Oh, damn. He couldn't remember.

"Okay," he agreed. "Let's go."

~ ~ ~

"What's wrong?" Cass asked, as Boone helped Gunnar stumble into the makeshift moonshiner's camp at dawn.

"He's sick."

"I can see that. What from? Did he get stung or bitten?"

"No, he was looking for evidence for you." Boone eased Gunnar to a seat on an old railroad tie. 

"Did you find it?" Cass asked.

Gunnar nodded, then regretted it and clutched his head.

"Anyone following you?"

Boone shook his head. "No. But he needs help."

"There's the Followers, or maybe the medics at the NCR, but probably better if we fix it ourselves." Cass lifted Gunnar's chin. "You said you don't drink, right?"

"Yeah."

"What about water?"

"Purified, when we've got it." Gunnar gently pushed her hand away from his bullet scar.

"What's this thing?" She pointed at the Pipboy on his wrist.

"This? It's a Pipboy. They used to have them in the Vaults. Doc Mitchell in Goodsprings gave it to me." Gunnar looked at it. The needle in the little gauge-window… He laughed, weakly. "I'm rad-poisoned."

"That thing goes off every time we're near a hot zone," Boone said. 

"How'd I get so many rads?"

"Food, maybe. Water. All the old food has some rads in it; eat enough and it adds up,” Cass said.

Gunnar bent forward again, putting his head between his knees.

"You need to get to McCarran," Boone said firmly. He glanced at Cass, who was digging in the pack Gunnar had left with her. "Get out of there."

"Shut up, jarhead. We don't need to go to the NCR or the Followers or anyone." She pulled some jalapeños and a plastic jar of seeds from the pack. "Go get some vodka. Not for me, for him," she said loudly, before Boone could do more than bristle. "Okay, maybe some for me too, but it's a medicine base. Go get it and I'll make up a cure."

"Do it, Boone," Gunnar wheezed. 

~ ~ ~

"I learned this from my mom," Cass said, shaking the ground seeds and mashed peppers in a half-bottle of vodka. (The other half had been poured into an empty bottle for later.) "It'll clear poison, rads, toxins, all kinds of stuff from your body. It's a good recipe to know, since Radaway's hard to find and I don't feel like paying a hundred caps or more to someone to do it for me."

"As long as you have the ingredients, sure."

"Which your gunner does."

"'S Gunnar — "

"He's got a whole lot of useful stuff in that pack. I'll teach you the recipe when you feel better," Cass offered. She held the bottle still and looked at it. "Okay, take two good swallows of this. Get it all down fast, it burns on the way down."

Gunnar took the bottle and did as directed. He coughed afterward. "God, that burns."

"Told you."

"How fast does it work?"

"Give it a couple minutes to get through your guts. If you've got any more pure water, get it ready to help flush you out." Cass grinned at Boone. "Thought I was just a pretty face, huh?"

Boone grumbled something. 

Gunnar waited, the mixture sitting uneasily in his stomach. "Thanks, Cass."

"Don't thank me yet," she said, still grinning. "It burns on the way in, and burns on the way out, too. You might want to go behind that rubble if you don't want us to see fire shooting out of your dick."

~ ~ ~

"Next time I think I'll take my chances with a doctor." Gunnar was pale, still wobbly on his pins, and had drunk, and flushed, a lot of water through his system.

"Suit yourself, but you're just making them rich. A bottle of vodka's usually way cheaper, and if you've got the goods, like I said, you can make it yourself. What's left here will last you a while." She capped the bottle of "purgative" tightly. "Check your Pipboy now."

Gunnar did so; the gauge showed zero rads, or close to it. "It works," he admitted. 

"You said booze makes you sick," Boone said.

"It does, but I don't think this stuff stayed in me long enough for that kind of sick to happen." Gunnar took out his diary and asked Cass to repeat the formula, so he could write it down.

Afterwards, Gunnar said to her, "You don't like the NCR much?"

"I'm _from_ California. NCR's like family. But it's like the fucked-up brother who can't keep his dick in his pants and ends up in trouble you gotta pay to get him out of." Cass considered the remaining half-bottle of vodka and set it aside for the moment. "They've got good intentions. They just can't figure out how to make them happen. Maybe this fight with Caesar's Legion is the kick in the nuts they need to wake up and get their act together."

"Like how?"

"Like, Caesar's taxes are a lot cheaper. The NCR has fees and paperwork everywhere, and here in the Mojave a lot of officers want their cut on top of those fees. And even then, my caravans had to carry so much ammo that it really ate into any profits, to protect themselves. In Legion country, caravans don't need guards. Anyone tries to fuck with a caravan finds themselves on a cross right away."

"You love it so much, why don't you go there," Boone said.

Cass snorted. "Yeah, considering only _men_ are worth anything in the Legion? That women are _maybe_ as valuable as cattle? At least in the NCR I've got my freedom, and I'm considered a person, and I can own property and take care of myself. It might be fucked-up family, but it's still family."

"So you like your independence. That's fair." Gunnar felt worn out, between waiting for the dead of night to break into Crimson, getting sick, and the cure being about as bad as the rad sickness. "I got some of the proof you need."

"Great! Let's see it."

Gunnar handed it over. "This implicates Crimson. The Van Graffs could probably wiggle out of it. So I have to sneak in there, too."

Cass shook her head. "That won't be easy. The Van Graffs cover almost the entire energy weapons market in the Mojave. Their stuff is expensive and limited, and they've got it guarded well."

"Do they know you by sight?"

Cass considered. "Maybe. I never bought their stuff, but nothing says they don't have an idea about me, especially if Crimson got cozy with them about eliminating me from the field."

Gunnar nodded. "I need some rest. How's the moonshine coming?"

"It'll be ready by dusk, bitter and strong enough to float a bullet on it. Why? You want a taste?" she grinned.

Gunnar shook his head. "No. But we'll need some for a distraction."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar sent Boone to recon the Silver Rush, the Van Graffs' storefront. "I need to know how I can get in, where any safes or computers are, how many guards, the layout of the place," Gunnar told him. "Go pretend you're a customer and look around."

Cass was to keep making moonshine. "Bottle whatever you can," Gunnar said.

"Is this for drinking or for bombing?" Cass asked.

"I hope we don't need to bomb anything, but we could use it like that, sure."

"The Silver Rush won't be taken down by booze bombs," Cass said.

"Doesn't have to be. It's for a distraction." Gunnar lay down on the makeshift bedding. "Wake me if there's any trouble."

"There shouldn't be. Don't worry, Boone, he's safe with me."


	11. Feudin' and Fightin'

When Gunnar woke, it was nearly dusk. Stew of some kind bubbled over a fire, and eight bottles of moonshine stood in a row. Boone sat nearby, rubbing oil into his boots with a scrap of cloth.

"Are you okay now?" Boone asked.

"Lots better." Gunnar shook himself. "Smells good. What is it?"

"Mole rat, maize, some of those peppers. Cass put it together."

"Where is she?" Gunnar stretched and looked for his mess kit.

"Stretching her legs," Boone said. "I got the layout. I used your book to draw it in."

Gunnar hesitated.

"I didn't read any of it, if that's what you're worried about. Here." Boone handed him the diary. "Last couple of pages."

Boone had drawn the building layout, noting guards and doors. It wasn't art, but it would do. Gunnar could see some problems right away. "The computer and safe are back here, behind a door…"

"And it's got a good-sized lock on it," Boone said. "So you need enough time to get through that lock, then open the safe or work on the computer."

"Yeah… dish me up some of that stew, would you?"

Gunnar studied the drawing and asked Boone more questions as they ate. "I don't think I can sneak in," Gunnar said at last. He wasn't sure he was sneaky enough; after all, he walked into traps. "But I really don't want to fight my way in, either."

"Distraction?"

"I don't think all the guards will leave their posts. I can't see the Van Graffs being that lax in their security."

"I don't want to die for a caravan souse."

"I don't want that either, Boone. But I said I would help, and I'm standing by my word." Gunnar scraped up a last bite of the mole rat stew. “If I get caught, you two can use that moonshine to make bombs or start a riot before you come rescue me, how’s that?”

~ ~ ~

In the end, Gunnar decided to try the nice way first: walking in, chatting them up, and seeing where that led. Boone said that would lead to another scar on Gunnar's head, and Cass suggested they do the other side so he'd have a matching set.

Despite his companions' misgivings, Gunnar went ahead with his plan as soon as the time seemed reasonable. Boone and Cass found a safe place to watch the Silver Rush from the third story of a ruined building. The floors were unsteady at best, with gaping holes that implied the long walk up was countered by a quick jump down, if you didn't care about your legs and ankles.

But the part by the window was safe enough. They passed the time with Boone teaching Cass how to be a spotter. She picked it up quickly, and practice helped the time pass. There wasn't enough winter sunlight for shadows; instead the sky grew grayer, and the two of them found it harder to conceal their apprehension as Gunnar failed to walk out of the Silver Rush.

"Should we walk in?" Cass asked for the second time.

"No. They might know you. They'd remember I was there before. Maybe even know I'm with him."

~ ~ ~

At last the Silver Rush doors opened from inside, and Gunnar and a shaven-headed woman exited, talking and laughing as though they were old friends.

"That's Gloria Van Graff," Cass said in a low voice. "The bitch — "

Boone shushed her and kept watching. Everything looked fine; now Gunnar and Gloria Van Graff shook hands. Gunnar began walking away, waving — Van Graff must think he was soft in the head — and headed for the nearest Freeside gate.

"You could shoot her now," Cass whispered.

"No. Let's see what Gunn did, first."

~ ~ ~

"You did it," Boone said, when Gunnar rejoined them outside town. 

"I did," Gunnar said, "but let's keep walking."

"You did what?" Cass asked, falling into step beside him. "Did you find proof? You sure got chummy with Gloria. What'd you do — "

"I already know what you're going to ask, and you shouldn't, because it's crass and I'm not like that," Gunnar said. He reached inside his shirt and produced a receipt. "There it is, all nice and legal. The Van Graffs and Silver Rush company taking the contract from Crimson Caravan."

"Well, I'll be damned." Cass held it up so she could read it by the neon lights. "You got it, all nice and legal. I've got a claim against them now." She turned very thoughtful.

"A legal claim," Gunnar repeated. "And maybe you don't like the NCR, but they're the law in California, where Crimson and the Van Graffs are both headquartered. Right?"

"That's right…"

"Which means no vigilantism."

"No what?"

"No starting a feud. No taking revenge into your own hands."

"They killed my caravaneers," Cass said, her voice hard. "Killed men and women working for me, and for other caravans, and destroyed everything, all so they could take over."

"I know. But going in with guns blazing won't bring them back. And it probably won't destroy Crimson or the Van Graffs, either. But if you take them to a court of law, you might get recompense — blood money — for their families, and damages for you and the other caravan companies they hit."

Cass looked at the two papers in her hand. 

"And think of what this means to their reputations," Gunnar went on. "When it becomes known that both of those companies employ murder to get their ends? People will wonder what else they do. People will be wary of doing any business with them. It'll hurt them a lot worse than you going in with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a stick of dynamite in the other."

Cass tapped the papers against her other hand. "You make some good points, Gunner. I didn't think of that. Any of it." She looked up at him. "Where'd you learn all that stuff?"

"I… before I came to the Mojave," Gunnar said. 

"California's where Caravan's based," Cass said. "The Van Graffs do a lot of business there too. That'll hurt them at home. Okay." She nodded and folded the papers, then tucked them in her pocket. "That's what I'll do. I know a Ranger at Mojave Outpost, one I can trust. I'll talk to him about it."

"Good. We'll go along the same way, back to Novac," Gunnar said, looking back at Boone, who shrugged. "Better to stick together a little while, in case anyone's trailing us."

"You got that right. Let's get moving, then."

~ ~ ~

Assassins tried to ambush them on the way to Novac. Still Legion, Gunnar noted, though by now he expected the Crimson Caravan and the Van Graffs to start sending out hit squads as well. They had no reason to suspect him, but it was probably better to expect them in future.

But it proved something: extra firepower was good and necessary. Cass turned out to be a crack shot indeed, matching Boone kill for kill. If he and Gunnar were going to make it anywhere and survive the hit squads, or the giant fire bugs or other nasties in the desert, they needed her, or someone else.

~ ~ ~

"I thought you were one of those Gunner Folk," Cass said afterwards.

Gunnar just sighed inwardly. He hadn’t scored a single hit with a pistol. "It's why I had to leave," he said. 

"Ah." That seemed to explain everything.

~ ~ ~

The problem was, Gunnar didn't think the someone with extra firepower should be Cass. Sure, she'd go along with them; he hadn't explicitly hired her, after all, but he could probably convince her to keep traveling with them. But first she was heading south to the Mojave Outpost, at the gates to California, and after telling her to seek proper redress in the courts of law, it would seem weird: _Hey, Cass, how about you travel with me and Boone to help him get closure and help me get some answers from the guy who killed me?_

And then there was that elephant in the room _(how do I know all these words? These phrases?)_ which was, Boone and Cass could tolerate each other, but had advanced to pointed remarks and/or stony silences, deliberate misunderstandings or just plain bickering. Gunnar couldn't deny that Cass had some good stories; at the same time, Cass was… crass, sometimes. 

_I must've come from some enlightened place,_ he thought one night, their last night before reaching Novac. _Some place that had books and learning, and didn't require you to fight your way through the world, and gun people down…_

"…I'm agreeing with you, the NCR's overstretched, but they should pull back to California."

"If they do that, the Legion will overrun the Mojave and everyone in it. They'll be that much harder to dislodge later."

"Caesar can't live forever. As soon as he dies, the whole place'll go belly-up."

A snort. "They've got a chain of command. If Caesar dies, he's got someone to replace him. It won't stop. They've got no reason to stop."

"The NCR should still pull back. They want to hold onto everything and they can't. Nobody's reach is that long, not even Long Dick Johnson, and he had a fucking long dick."

Gunnar came back from his reverie at this point and rubbed his face with one hand. He owed Boone that trip to Bitter Springs still. He'd done right by Cass. Now they just needed to find someone else willing to throw in on this… quest or mission or whatever the hell it was.

~ ~ ~

"So where are you two headed now? Going to wander the desert?" Cass asked, as they approached Novac. Gunnar had sent Boone ahead, ostensibly to make sure they still had rooms at the hotel, but also so Gunnar could speak privately with Cass.

"No, we've got places we need to go. Answers we have to find," Gunnar said. "But it's been good traveling with you, Cass."

"This is where we part ways? What, no music?" Cass said.

"It's been a good trip, and I'm glad we helped with your caravan. But I think — "

"Yeah, I know. I'll get out of your hair. Two's company and all that."

"I didn't mean — " Gunnar could feel his face coloring.

"It's kind of obvious you've got a Legion point of view, Gunner." While Gunnar tried to figure out that metaphor, Cass continued, "If you don't mind a little friendly advice? Those NCR soldiers are already fucked over enough by their orders and officers. You don't want to get attached, 'cause if you fuck them, you're fucked." 

She sighed at Gunnar's look. "You're like someone's innocent baby brother, you know that? Well, good luck to you, and thanks for the help. I'll get out of your hair when we hit town."


	12. Two Sleepy People

"You've still got a room," Boone said, when he and Gunnar met at the dinosaur. "What about her?"

"She's going back to California, I think," Gunnar said. "What about your room?"

"Rented out."

"Did you leave anything behind in it?"

Boone shrugged. "Nothing I couldn't live without."

Gunnar sucked on his teeth. "I've got that couch, still. I want to stay here the night, then we'll go to Bitter Springs."

"Yeah, about that…" Boone shifted from side to side. "It's rough territory out there. Part of why we need someone else is because you can't shoot."

Gunnar shrugged in agreement.

"So you need practice," Boone continued. "I don't think we should try for Bitter Springs until you're a better shot."

"Okay. Tomorrow we can set up a little shooting range, and — "

Boone laughed, actually laughed. "Ammo's too scarce for that. You'll practice on bugs and scorpions and whatever else we find. Plus we can eat them afterwards. Got it?"

"Sure." Real world practice; baptism by fire. And if Boone was delaying that trip to Bitter Springs, Gunnar wouldn’t suggest it. He did need to become a better shot, after all.

Everything was still the same in Gunnar's room at the Novac Hotel. A little dusty, perhaps, from the cracks in the walls and the boarded-up windows, but nothing had been moved. 

Boone had been in here before, of course, but never to sleep. Gunnar felt a little nervous about it, and chided himself for it. They'd slept at the same campsites the entire trip now — admittedly, not always at the same time — this shouldn't be any different.

Except it was different, because this was Gunnar's room, his almost-home, even if he hadn't spent much time in it, and it had a very nice queen-sized bed.

Gunnar found himself taking a little extra time getting ready for bed — combing his hair and so on — as though it would matter. They'd spent weeks on the trail, usually sleeping in their clothes, often grungy. He told himself he was rationalizing when he thought of it as 'just cleaning myself up.' It didn't help. 

"What's with the clothes?" Boone asked, when Gunnar returned from the bathroom. 

"They're for sleeping in." Gunnar looked down at himself in the faded red pajamas. "If I'm home, I'm going to use them. I can't take them on the trail."

"I suppose." Boone wore a T-shirt and pants, instead of the full armor, and he sat on the couch. "Might as well enjoy them."

"Yeah. Hey, Boone, the bed's big enough. Lots more comfortable than the couch. If you want that side — "

Boone shook his head and removed his beret and shades. His dark hair had grown back into a short fuzz. "I'm good here."

"Your feet'll hang off the edge," Gunnar pointed out.

"I'll make do." Boone lay down on the couch, stretched, then curled up enough to fit. "See?"

"Yeah. Okay. Well, if you change your mind…" Gunnar let the words trail off. He'd made the offer, repeatedly, and that was all he could or should do. He climbed under the old gray blanket and shut off the end table light, plunging the room into darkness.

He hoped that with the darkness, maybe Boone would come over. _Or you could go there, y'know._ But he'd made his overtures and Boone had said no. _Don't want to push it, things are okay right now, if I piss him off then he's gone._ He might just let you down gently. _Cass said soldiers are trouble, especially the broken ones, and Boone — he's still dealing with a lot. He deserves his space._ Cowardice isn't becoming. 

Gunnar rolled on his side, away from the couch, and made himself recite recipes in his head until he fell asleep.


	13. Roundhouse Rock

"I started out shooting bugs." Gunnar took the pistol in a two-handed grip. 

"Then it should be familiar. Let's start with grip…"

It was helping, having someone actually know the subject. Gunnar also had to unlearn some bad habits, but he was getting there.

It was obvious Gunnar wasn't good with a rifle, either, after Boone let him try a few rounds. Boone had to finish off the bugs that Gunnar didn't. 

"Can't I just stick with the Magnum?"

"You weren't hitting anything with that," Boone said. "And the recoil isn't helping. We'd better try you out on a few different handguns. Whatever works best for you, that's the one you should stick with."

So they did, paying for ammo and use of the Novac population's guns for testing purposes. The whole town turned out for this, because you had to take entertainment when it showed up, especially from someone who couldn't hit his target.

Gunnar suffered it in good spirits, because Boone was right; he needed to test these out.

"What about that gun you've got in the back, Briscoe?" someone called. Gunnar suspected at this point people would suggest just about anything, to keep the spectacle going. He wasn't _that_ bad, not really. 

Cliff Briscoe, the gift shop proprietor, stroked his chin as he thought. "Oh, yeah," he said at last. "That one. Don't know if there's any ammo for it. Let me check."

"You did all right with the .22, but that wouldn't stop a dying bloatfly," Boone said. 

Cliff returned with a strange-looking weapon that Gunnar thought at first was a — it was — semiautomatic, he knew that somehow, but what did that mean, and how did he know it?

"Here you go," Cliff said. "Takes 5.56 ammo, looks like it had a stock at one time, but then it's not really a pistol any more, is it? Still, give it a try."

Gunnar looked it over. “I recognize the maker name,” he said. How could he not? The slogans themselves said it all. _When you want to make your shot count — make it a Duzi!_ Something else, too, about how the Duzi’s stopping power was the maximum that a handgun could legally have, some outlandish claim like that. Mostly because it was a shortened AR that now could be called a pistol.

Boone didn't approve. It was heavy and had some kind of automated functions and lights, which made it doubly impractical. 

But Gunnar steadied himself, holding it with two hands as he should, and hit the target several times in a row, which was his personal best for the day. "I think this one," he said. "How much?"

The haggling took a while, not least because Boone put in his opinions (all negative), but in the end Gunnar paid for the unusual weapon. Briscoe didn't have a holster for it, but someone donated an old holster that "you could probably modify to make it work."

~ ~ ~

Back in their room, Gunnar watched as Boone took up the challenge of holster modification. "Did you really mean all that, or were you just saying it to get the cost down?" he asked.

"Both. I've never seen something like this, and that means we don't know what will go wrong with it."

"It'll be fine," Gunnar said, just to be contrary. “I’ll use it for everything smaller than a barn. And underground. I promise,” he added, solemnly placing his hand over his heart.

~ ~ ~

They'd explored more of the Mojave while he practiced, even evading a small family of deathclaws.

On the other hand, wandering the hills of the western Mojave, they'd found a small camp of Great Khans. Boone had stayed well back, while Gunnar went to talk to them.

The Khans had heard of 'the Gunner Volk' who'd negotiated with the NCR to let the Khans trapped in Boulder City go free. The Khans also distrusted the NCR, and with good reason. "After what happened at Bitter Springs? And that guy you're traveling with, he's a fucking murderer, you know that?"

Gunnar, hoping Boone hadn't heard, kept up small talk and eventually took on a job for the Khans, finding what had happened to their missing "chemicals" delivery. Which had turned into a trip to Primm to find the source, who was getting antsy about stealing from the NCR, but handed them over when Gunnar threatened to inform the NCR about the issue in the first place.

"So now you're a drug runner for the Khans?" Boone said.

"No. I'm going to tell them that source is drying up. But I want them to trust me. Someday I might need their help, and I'd rather they didn't think of me as an enemy."

~ ~ ~

"You're getting better," Boone decided, after more traveling, hunting and shooting. "We could travel to Camp Golf next. That's part of the way to Bitter Springs, and they've got a firing range. Or were you ever going to look for Benny?"

Gunnar took a deep breath. "I need to find him, yeah. But I'd rather have backup, and if I can't have that, I need to be able to talk or fight my out, if things go really bad."

"Sounds like a plan."

"And that means I need to be a better shot. Shooting bugs is one thing, but people can shoot back."

"Going to become a mercenary?"

Gunnar thought that sounded like a joke, so he treated it like one. "No," he said, smiling. "I don't think I could be a good one. But even if I get to him, I hope I'll get real answers. Like, what was so important about that poker chip, important enough that two couriers got killed for it."

Boone frowned. "Two?"

"Yeah… there were six items total, if I remember right, and one of the other couriers was shot dead for it. Besides me, I mean. He died there. I was found and fixed up."

"You owe Doc Mitchell a lot for bringing you back."

"Yeah. I do. I helped save their town from gangers. Maybe if I can do something about the war, that'll be some payback too."

"You mean between the NCR and the Legion."

"Yeah. Everyone says it's coming. I just hope I can do something about it."

Boone laughed.

"What's so funny?" Gunnar demanded.

Boone shook his head. "I hope I'm there to see it," he said at last, still smiling.


	14. If I Didn't Care

"Don't volunteer for anything," Boone warned Gunnar as they approached Camp Golf. "First rule of life in the army."

"I'm not enlisting, if that's what you mean." Gunnar adjusted his pack. He hoped to find a trader or quartermaster, actually, and unload some of the bug meat he'd collected in the wasteland.

"Not just that. I mean don't volunteer to get involved in anything."

"Boone…"

"Camp Golf used to be important. Now they ship the losers here. After the Legion was driven back from the Hoover Dam, the front went elsewhere." 

"It's a resort," Gunnar said, reading the signs. "House Resort. Was this a golf course?"

"A what?" Boone looked at him a long moment. "Are you sure you didn't come from a vault?"

"Pretty sure, if Vault 22 was any example." It was lonely sometimes, being the only person who knew of such things.

~ ~ ~

"I told you, do not do one thing. One thing," Boone growled.

"Oh, you're the boss of me, then? You can tell me what to do?" Gunnar retorted. "I'm not going to just sit idly by if someone needs help!"

"They don't need help, they need a hard boot up the ass!"

"Like that's going to help when the Legion attacks!"

Soldiers were already drifting toward the sounds of an argument.

"Nobody's asking you to help anyone!"

"And maybe that's why everyone needs so much help! Because nobody's helping!"

"You can't fix the world!"

"I can damn well try!"

They glared at each other, neither backing down. They realized they had a curious audience at about the same time.

Boone took his pack and walked away. Gunnar glared at his back, mentally daring him to turn and look back, but he didn't. 

~ ~ ~

"T' be honest, I think you've got the right idea," O'Hanrahan said. "People just need to be nicer to each other. If we all did that, the whole world would be a better place."

"That's the truth," Gunnar sighed. The NCR had promised free meals and a place to sleep if he could get this squad into shape. They needed it. Razz was a junkie, Mags out of her depth, Poindexter just trying to skate by, and O'Hanrahan was the most pacifist person Gunnar had come across since he'd woken up at Doc Mitchell's place. "What made you decide to be a soldier?" he asked the man. Any recruiter would be glad to have him on physical appearance alone; O'Hanrahan was a full two meters tall, broad in the shoulders and in excellent shape. Gunnar suspected the man could wrestle a bear and win, if he didn't try to make friends with the bear first.

"Well, my ma an' pa had the Brahmin back home, and me an' my sisters worked hard, all of us. But it was a lot of mouths to feed. When the drought came an' we had to slaughter some of the cattle so the others could live, it was too many mouths. I signed up so's I can send money home, and they can take better care of themselves."

Gunnar liked O'Hanrahan. He was the first person who wasn't bitter as dust.

"But to be a soldier, don't you have to fight?"

"Well, we're supposed to. But I don't like to. Ma always said, Boy, you're the biggest and the strongest, so you better mind myself all the time! And so I did."

"Don't you worry about the Legion, and war?"

"I don't have any personal beef with those Legion fellers. They got as much right to live as anyone does, an' we all need the water. The good Lord told us to be kind to each other, didn't he?"

Gunnar stared. This was the first time he'd heard anyone talk about God at all, other than to swear. "That he did," he agreed, "but we should also defend those who can't defend themselves, can't we?"

~ ~ ~

"Shit, you wanna see this squad tear up the Legion?" Razz didn't spit, if only because he had a bandanna pulled high up over the lower half of his face. Gunnar wondered if it was to hide something or just to avoid breathing dust. Or being recognized, maybe. "Get me some angry-juice. That'll light a fire under 'em. Get 'em all juiced up, right? Then hell _yeah,_ even that pussy O'Hanny'll tear throats out with his teeth!"

~ ~ ~

"We need to learn better teamwork," Mags said. She was officially the squad leader, but Gunnar wondered if she'd been promoted past her ability; she didn't command respect from the other three, and seemed to barely have control of the squad as it currently stood.

"Teamwork's important," Gunnar agreed. "Have you tried any," he tried to remember anything at all about army life, "close-order drills, or squad training?"

"I think what we could probably use is some basic training with rifles and grenades," Mags said, forcing a smile. "I'm not sure how much those three have ever had."

~ ~ ~

"Do you really think you can make a difference?"

Poindexter wore glasses, kept himself immaculately clean under the circumstances, and literally looked down his nose at Gunnar. "I heard your little tête-à-tête with the big lummox. You can't fix the world. It's true. The most you can do is make it good for yourself." He crossed his arms and looked smug.

Gunnar wondered if Poindexter meant O'Hanrahan or Boone. Could've been either. "You seem like a smart guy." Also annoying as hell, but this type liked to feel superior.

"Not seem. Am. I'm a genius, and I certainly don't intend to risk myself on the front lines."

"Why are you here, then?"

Poindexter snorted. "I'll use small words so you can understand. Free food. Safety. I really couldn't care less what happens in this war, as long as I'm far enough away from the action. Ideally I'd be in a place better suited to my obvious talents and intellect, such as administration."

And woe befall any soldier who needed anything from you, Gunnar thought. "You sound like you've been educated."

Poindexter rolled his eyes. "Of course I have. And let me tell you, I'd arrange it myself to get out of here, if I could get the passwords for the records. And maybe get these three sent to combat duty, too. It wouldn't be hard to falsify the records, make everyone look good on paper. Well. On the screen."


	15. In the Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening

Boone set the whiskey bottle down. He'd told the truth, when he'd told Gunnar that drinking didn't help him forget. Sometimes it made him remember more.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to have some of it now, and he did; but he didn't need to keep going until darkness overcame him. He snorted. If he were here, Gunnar would say it was already dark, probably, and then point out how the moon and the stars kept the night from being as black as a crow.

Gunnar talked a lot like that. He had to be a Vault dweller, somehow, one who'd been taught science and history and basics of human kindness, and then somehow got out and ended up here. Boone suspected Gunnar's good nature was what had gotten him killed in the first place. Shot in the head, he corrected himself. Nobody survives dying, not even a Vault dweller.

The desert night was coming alive around him: buzzing of tiny, non-lethal insects; coyotes and wild dogs yipping and howling at each other; here and there birds calling. It was peaceful, as long as some giant bug or pack of dogs didn't find you and decide you were tasty. 

Boone took another drink.

Since Gunnar had shown up, Boone found himself thinking more than before. After Bitter Springs, Carla had helped him forget. Her laugh, her smile; she was _alive,_ so alive, and with her, he could forget what he'd done. He could be alive again too. She'd been… Boone sighed. He didn't have a picture of her. Sometimes a wandering painter would pass through, and you could pay to get a small portrait done. None had come through during the time he and Carla were man and wife. The Army cameras could make pictures of real life, if you had the film and the chemicals, and Gunnar even knew how to do it… if he had the film and the chemicals.

Boone wished he had something to remember her by.

They didn't have much, nobody ever did unless they were somehow super rich. Carla hadn't wanted to move to Novac, but she loved him, so she went. She didn't want to raise brahmin or grow a farm, and she'd had a hard time getting along with people there, because she wasn't one of them. But she'd done it for him, and he'd tried to make her happy.

He wiped at his eyes.

Boone didn't know if there was a heaven or hell or any of that. Some people believed. But there was no way to know, and it sure looked like when you died, you died, and that was it. He'd never seen a ghost, or gotten some kind of message from those who'd gone before; not unless you counted the screams of Bitter Springs in his nightmares.

He guessed Carla would be in heaven, if it existed. Heaven was supposed to be green and peaceful and you could have everything you wanted. That was a better fate than being a woman in the hands of the Legion. 

_Forgive me, Carla._

He waited; nobody spoke to him, no words came on the breeze.

After he'd made that shot, that choice, Boone was dead inside, for the second time. He kept working at Novac, if only to find out who'd sold her, so he could get revenge; but his days were spent asleep, assisted with alcohol if he had to, and nights staring out over the desert and wrestling with his memories. He'd considered jumping out of the dinosaur, but there was a good chance he would've lived, except crippled, and that might've been worse.

Now…

Another sip.

Gunnar didn't belong here. He'd probably go talk to Benny and try to make amends and be friends instead of beating answers out of him and then blowing his brains out. Assuming he made it that far, because whoever Benny was, he had to have heard of this weirdo redheaded probably-Vault-dweller by now. Or maybe he didn't know and wouldn't have cared.

Boone couldn't accuse Gunnar of avoiding the meeting with Benny, when half the time Boone wasn't sure if he wanted to go to Bitter Springs or not. Sometimes he thought he'd just go there and put the ghosts to rest. Sometimes he thought they'd just come back stronger.

And whatever else Gunnar had done, Boone was starting to feel alive again. It was a tired alive; he just wanted to not hurt any more. Maybe the hurt never really stopped. Maybe it would fade with enough time. 

After Jeannie was dead, Boone didn't want to stay in Novac. He'd be happy never going back there, but Gunnar had a room now and… yeah. It was blindingly obvious Gunnar wanted to be more than friends. He was good about it, though. Not in-your-face or crass. _I should let him down easy,_ Boone thought. The redhead deserved that much, after all the help he'd given Boone.

Help?

Yeah. Making him keep going. Talking, sometimes to the point Boone wished he'd shut up, about every damn thing in the world and some things beyond it. Helping people. Gunnar would drop everything to help someone, and Boone had seen the confusion and bewilderment in their faces at the sight. _You just want to help? Because it's a nice thing to do? What the fuck?_

Gunnar almost never cursed. He was weird. And — 

Boone lifted the bottle to his lips, then set it back down. If he stayed with Gunnar, there would be a lot more helping people. It was as natural to Gunnar as breathing. 

_You can't fix the world._

_I have to try!_

If he didn't stay with Gunnar, next thing you know the Followers would recruit him in. Boone had seen how Gunnar was drawn to them. And the Followers weren't real happy with the NCR — hell, who was, these days — and probably they'd tell Gunnar to let it slide and not worry about revenge or answers from Benny.

If he didn't stay with Gunnar, he had nowhere to go. No purpose. Novac was dead to him. He wouldn't rejoin the army. There was nowhere and no one. If he disappeared into the wasteland, nobody would notice. If he went to the Legion and killed as many as he could before they killed him, they'd kill him, and that would be that; he'd die and life would go on.

Gunnar thought he could stop the upcoming war between the Legion and the NCR. Boone thought he'd get shot by both sides and fall on his face, but —

But, dammit — 

But he would feel bad if something happened to Gunnar and he could have stopped it.

He thought more about Gunnar these days than he did about Carla. Boone felt guilty about that. But Gunnar was here, and alive, and Boone was feeling alive again too, when they were together.

He took a last sip from the bottle. He'd go back to Camp Golf tomorrow, and see what godforsaken mercy mission Gunnar dragged him into this time, and try to keep him from getting killed. 

He felt better for having decided that. For now, he'd set some perimeter snares from string and tin cans and get some sleep.


	16. I Can Read Between the Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rating for this chapter is Mature due to sexual situation.

It took Boone longer than he expected to return to Camp Golf. Traveling solo was risky, always had been; if you got sick or injured, you were likely on your own and nobody would ever know what happened. 

Boone took a cazador sting in the arm and had to rest and treat it before he could continue. The poison was bad enough; but he needed both arms to shoot effectively. At least he had food and water, since Gunnar had always packed the bags evenly in case one of them got damaged.

Therefore it was three days later when he made it back to Camp Golf. There seemed to be a party going on. Some good news must have happened, he thought. Maybe the Legion had been driven back. 

Someone had a radio on, he could hear the music as he got closer, good music for dancing. His heart ached a bit at that. He'd danced with Carla, many times. She was better at it than he was, but she never held that over him. Just showed him the steps.

It was dusk and the fire was burning brightly, flames jumping with the music, and damned if troopers weren't dancing to it after all. Bottles glinted in the light. Hell of a party going on, Boone thought. Probably men and women would sneak off and screw later; officially they weren't supposed to, but if you knew your life might be on the line tomorrow, why bother worrying about that?

Boone wondered if Gunnar was even still here. He might've moved on. Might've gotten tired of waiting, decided to head out. But Boone could find out where he'd gone. Or, God forbid, Gunnar had gone looking for him — 

— no, there he was… showing that big guy how to dance. 

Boone stopped short. Gunnar's hair was copper fire. He was smiling, broadly, like he was having the time of his life. Happy, and alive, and…

Boone just watched for several minutes. Just friends, from the look of it. Just showing the big guy the steps. Then dancing with the woman squad leader. Just friends. With the whole squad. They were all happy, laughing, drinking… and he was on the outside, watching.

No.

Boone walked up to within the fire's glow. Everyone stopped to look at him. He realized he was the stranger here.

"Boone!"

Gunnar ran up to him, stopped short, clapped him on the arm. (At least it was the good arm, not the one that had taken poison.) "Boone! You're back!" He sounded so genuinely pleased about that, and Boone realized he felt good about it too. It felt so much better than the hurt.

"Yeah. I'm back," he said, and smiled.

"Everyone, this is Boone! He's First Recon. Best shot I ever saw and he taught me everything I know about guns. Poindexter, is there a beer for him? Mags, any of that steak left? C'mon, Boone, take a seat."

~ ~ ~

He'd done it. He'd really done it. Taken some losers and made them a team. Boone wasn't ready to say it was the power of being nice that had done it, but during those days he'd been away, Gunnar had made a difference here. Like he had in so many other places. 

The steak was good, the beer not bad, and it sounded like he'd even gotten them to work well together as a unit.

"That's what we're celebrating," Mags said, handing Boone another beer. "We passed! Grenade and marksmanship both. We can be proud of ourselves now."

She sat next to Boone, and they talked, while the other four played cards amid much laughing accusations of cheating and trash talk. Mags had wanted to be a Ranger, but washed out. "I know most people can't make it. I thought I could, but… maybe the Misfits can be just as good."

"Misfits? Is that your squad name?" Boone asked.

"Someone called us that before Gunnar arrived. But I think we'll keep it. We wouldn't fit in anywhere else, but now we can work together. Even O'Hanrahan'll be there in a fight. So you're First Recon?"

He told her he had been, didn't mention Bitter Springs, but she asked what it was like, how much action he'd seen. She was attentive, and the party atmosphere softened all the edges of his thinking. 

"My tent's the last one on the left," she murmured, before taking another drink.

Boone knew what she meant. He also knew this was a chance to show Gunnar which side of the fence he rode on. Gunnar would figure it out, and nothing would have to be said. "What about your squad?"

"What about 'em? I don't sleep with my squad. You know the rules."

Yeah, Boone knew the rules. He drained the beer bottle and set it down. "Okay."

Mags stood and sauntered off as if she was just heading to the latrine. Boone waited a minute before getting up. Gunnar looked at him, and there was a question in his face.

"G'night," Boone said, waving, and he followed Mags to her tent.

~ ~ ~

She was ready, readier than he was, but still he spent time on her, because it had been so long since Carla. He felt a little guilt, but not much, as she encouraged him and gasped and her hips bucked against his face, and then he was ready too, and oh _God_ it felt good, so good, he had to go slow enough that he wouldn't shoot immediately.

Her legs wrapped around him and pulled him deeper, and he kissed her, hard. He needed this, needed _her._

"Oh, _fuck,_ " she breathed, and dug her fingers into his back.

God, he'd missed her, her eagerness. Carla squeezed down on him, and Boone groaned and kissed her again. 

~ ~ ~

Gunnar sat on the mattress in his tent, diary in his lap, the blank page accusing him. Well, that had settled it, hadn't it? He'd dodged the metaphorical bullet. Good thing he hadn't asked Boone outright that one night. He hadn't humiliated himself by asking and getting turned down.

Still. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

Gunnar blinked several times to clear his eyes. He had to write something about today. It had been a good day, too. Remember the good things, he told himself. The Misfits had done well in training, better than anyone had expected. Poindexter might be a smartass, but he had a head for tactics after all, once he knew what they were, and he was on his way to becoming Mags' second in command.

Mags. She'd let her bitterness over not being Ranger material blind her, but now she had her squad and they were a team. O'Hanrahan would always be the one to wait before shooting, but he'd do it to defend his team if nothing else. And Razz had a great arm for grenades, as far as Gunnar could tell, which wasn't saying much, but he'd hit every target once he'd gotten the hang of it.

So it was all good news. All good. He wrote that down, and a summary of the Misfits' progress. And Boone had come back.

Cass had been right all along. Don't fall for a soldier. 

He wrote: _Boone returned. Will discuss plans in the morning._

He'd wanted to run up and hug the man, and made himself stop, because of everyone who would see, and… good thing he hadn't done that either. 

Gunnar rubbed at his eyes, closed the diary and turned off the little solar-battery light. His tent — the one with two mattresses, in case — well — it was at the other end of the row from the Misfits'. He shouldn't hear anything.

 _I used to have someone,_ he thought. It was a lonely thought. _I will again someday._ That was a better way to think on it. Right?

He wished he didn't feel so miserable. _Too much fun_ , he tried to tell himself. _Get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning_. He hoped it was true.

~ ~ ~

Boone wasn't used to another person next to him any more, and he woke when she did. 

"I needed that," Mags sighed. 

"Me too." What else could he say? He felt better and worse at the same time.

"I wondered if you'd take me up on it," Mags said, and put her hand on his chest. "Glad you did."

She kissed him, and he kissed her back. He didn't love her, would never see her again probably, but damn if he didn't want to be close to someone right now. Close to —

"Who's Carla?"

Boone stopped. He must've said her name, somewhere. "Someone I used to know."

She laughed. "Hell, it's all right. At least it wasn't Gunnar. I half expected that."

"What?" Boone raised himself on one elbow.

"You didn't see how he looked at you? And you know the saying — this is my rifle, this is my gun?"

 _One is for killing, one is for fun._ "No, nothing like that. Gunn's just a friend." One making soft-eyes at him, apparently, enough for everyone else to see it. 

"Good." She matched his pose and reached down, stroking his hip. "Up for another round?"

He realized he didn't want to. He should get out of here. "I have to hit the can," he said, finding his pants. 

Her sigh spoke volumes. "See you in the morning, then." At least she didn't sound angry; and he heard her yawn.

"Sure." Boone dressed and left the tent. The night air felt cool against his skin, and he took a deep breath. He had no idea where Gunnar was staying here at the camp.


	17. Smoothing the Whole Thing Over

Gunnar woke to camp sounds. His Pipboy had an alarm built in, which he often used, but he hadn't today, and now he'd overslept. 

He met with the Misfits for chow, and the guys were razzing Mags about getting lucky last night, and she was proud of it. Gunnar grinned and went along, because he didn't want to be a poor sport, and anyway it wasn't like they knew his feelings in the matter.

But he'd move on today. He'd done what he'd had to do here, and he should get back to finding Benny. Boone hadn't come to Gunnar's tent during the night; probably he'd stayed with Mags. Gunnar hoped they wouldn't run into each other, because it would just be awkward now; he'd eat and get going.

~ ~ ~

That plan went to heck when Gunnar returned to his tent to collect his things and found Boone there, sitting on one of the mattresses.

Boone looked up at him. "Hi." 

Gunnar made a little wave. "Hi." Don't show anything. Don't let him know. But now, apparently, neither of them knew what to say.

Boone had shaved and cleaned himself up. He didn't get up from where he sat. "What's the plan?"

"I, uh…" Gunnar went to his things and began to repack, to give himself time to think, and an excuse not to make eye contact. "I got asked if I could visit one of the other NCR camps and see if I can help out there."

"Okay."

Neither said anything while Gunnar finished repacking and ran out of ways to delay. He put on his armored jacket and shouldered the pack. Boone stood. "Which camp?"

"Forlorn Hope." There was a history behind that phrase, and Gunnar knew it, but didn't feel like sharing his knowledge.

"Okay."

If he didn't come along, fine. _I've traveled alone before and survived. I can do it._ But Boone followed him out the tent, and out of Camp Golf.

~ ~ ~

By afternoon, Boone was concerned. Gunnar had never been this quiet. Normally he'd talk about something, anything, if they didn't need to be quiet. He'd talk about the desert fruits he'd pick on the way, what he planned for their next meal, maybe. Or he'd see some bird and remember something about it, off in the distance. Vault Dwellers were a talky lot, if Gunnar was any indication.

But today he'd barely said anything. Only answered when asked a question, and then in the fewest words, including "I don't know.”

When the sun was low in the sky, and it was time to make camp, Gunnar opened up an old can of pork and beans for himself. 

"What's wrong?" Boone asked at last. He didn't want to play this game.

"Nothing's wrong." Gunnar fished in his pack, got another can and set it near Boone. So that was dinner. 

"Don't start 'nothing's wrong' with me," Boone snapped, half irritated, half worried. 

"Boone, I don't feel like talking. Okay?" Gunnar kept eating

"What are you, sick?" Boone suspected he knew the truth. 

"Boone, stop it. You don't have to keep traveling with me. Okay? If you do, I'll probably be fine tomorrow."

"You want me to leave?"

"Now don't _you_ start." There, finally, an edge in Gunnar's voice instead of that resigned tone. "I didn't say that and you know it."

"Is this about me and Mags?" There. There it was, out in the open.

Gunnar stopped eating long enough to rub his temples as though he had a headache. "I made a mistake, and I'll get over it in time," he said with a sigh. "That's all it is."

"Do you want me to stay?" What mistake?

"…Yeah."

"Then I'm staying." 

Silence settled over the camp. Gunnar finished the can, drank some water and lay out his bedroll. Boone still hadn't touched the can Gunnar had set out for him.

He felt weirdly guilty about screwing Mags, and he wasn't sure why. No, that wasn't true. It had felt like cheating. Like he was going behind Carla's back. She was dead, and most people would say he had no reason to feel guilty about sleeping with another woman.

Gunnar lay down, arms behind his head, and looked up at the night sky. Boone started to bank the fire, and waited for Gunnar to talk, but no words came.

"How'd you get them to pass marksmanship?" Boone asked.

Gunnar half-turned his head toward him. "The Misfits?" Back to the sky. "Some of it was what you'd taught me. Some of it was from reading training manuals in the resort house files. Same thing for the grenades. Training manuals are a good thing. Not like experience, but they help."

"Huh." Boone had no idea there were such things. He'd been taught and learned by practice, in basic training. "But if they were just bad shots, that wouldn't have gotten them sent to Camp Golf. So what else did you do?"

Gunnar waited long enough that Boone wondered if he would even answer, but at last he spoke. "I talked to them. Helped them out. They're good people. Even Razz, once he understood what I wanted him to do."

"You're good," Boone said. "You like helping people."

"I do."

"Well… I guess I'll have to get used to helping people, then."

He'd hoped for a memorable response, maybe Gunnar sitting up, realization dawning, and everything back to what it was. But Gunnar just kept watching the night sky.


	18. I Can't Escape From You

Gunnar stayed quiet and withdrawn even as they reached Camp Forlorn Hope. Boone tried now and then to draw him out, but stopped when it didn't seem to be working, and he wasn't that kind anyway. Gunnar was the talker.

Camp Forlorn Hope was aptly named. The morale was so bad it was almost tangible. All Ranger shacks tended to be cobbled together of whatever was nearby, but this one was even more ramshackle than usual, and for a larger number of soldiers. It was also hell to reach, up high on a cliff overlooking the river.

Gunnar rallied himself long enough to meet with the camp captain and volunteer for whatever had to be done. Boone found himself "volunteered" as well, to find out what happened to the supply shipment that hadn't arrived.

He didn't like leaving Gunnar like this, not after recent events, but maybe Gunnar would improve after helping out here. He always seemed to feel better after helping people.

~ ~ ~

"I just wanted to not hurt for a while," Private Stone whimpered.

"I know. I know." Gunnar had his arm around the Ranger's shoulders. "The drugs don't make it go away."

"No, but they made me forget for a little while. Paulie's head got cut off right in front of me. The Legionary, he, he cut off, I can't do this any more. I can't."

"Okay, here's what I want you to do. Eric? Look at me, okay?" Private Stone did. "I want you to get better, okay? Here's what I want you to do. You're going to go to Dr. Richards. You're going to tell him you took the drugs, and tell him why."

"I can't do that — "

"You can. He's not going to arrest you." Doctors couldn't, but that was beside the point. "Tell him you're shell-shocked. He can write it up for you to get out of here and get the help you need."

"I can't, I can't — "

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Private Stone gulped some air and nodded.

"Okay. Take some time to calm down. Here's some water. When you're calm, we'll go to the medic's tent together. I'll back you up."

"…Okay."

Gunnar squeezed Stone's shoulder and smiled. "It's going to get better. It will."

~ ~ ~

Boone and the Rangers escorting the supplies back to Camp Forlorn Hope heard the gunfire long before they were in range to do anything about it. They hid the supplies and returned to the camp to find it embroiled in a battle against the Legion.

Boone went for high ground and began killing as many as he could find, until he ran out of bullets; then he took up his machete and tried to ambush soldiers. He hoped to God that Gunnar wasn't on the front lines somewhere, or already dying or taken prisoner. He shouldn't have left — no time, just _kill and kill again —_

The Legion withdrew, leaving their dead, but no dying, because those who couldn't retreat killed themselves. Typical Legion. Boone heard a medic call for aid, and he went to the man.

"Where's Gunnar Volk?" he asked.

"Surgery. Get this man on the stretcher." 

Surgery. Oh God. Boone did as ordered, and helped carry the wounded back to camp, where they waited outside the medical tent. _Surgery. He's not a doctor. Maybe he's helping. That's got to be it._

More wounded, and Boone had to resupply in case of another attack; the solar-powered lights and the generator kicked in as it got dark. Wounded went into the tent, carried by Rangers, but Boone wasn't allowed in. He was still whole, and a civilian to boot; he had no authority in there.

He had an idea, went to the back of the tent, up close to the fabric wall, and listened. 

"Not many more, buttercup," he heard someone say. _Buttercup?_ Boone frowned. "They're all depending on you."

Someone answering. Gunnar? Hard to tell. Boone leaned closer.

"I hear you, handsome. Just keep it together a little longer. You're doing fine. Forceps."

Boone realized his hands were clenched so tightly into fists that it hurt. It had to be Gunnar in there, and some bastard was fucking _flirting_ with him. Then the anger drained away; many more what? Bullets? What if he'd gotten all shot up, was maybe bleeding out?

"Shit." Boone made himself walk away from the tent and find a position where he could keep an eye on it, and on the approaches to the camp. He saw the other Rangers going to retrieve the supplies. Good. He'd watch for Legion, and for Gunnar.

~ ~ ~

It was a long time before work was done in the tent, from the look of it; but at last the lights inside dimmed, and some men walked out, the walk of the exhausted. Some of them went to a gully to smoke; some went to the barracks; a few just sat down outside the tent. Boone looked through his scope. That was Gunnar, and he looked wiped out, drawing up his knees and resting his head and arms on them. He had those same loose fatigues the medicos wore, all bloodstained and dirty. Another man in the same style fatigues sat next to him and put an arm around him.

That was it. Boone snapped the scope back onto his rifle, slung it onto his back, and climbed down from his vantage point.

Walk quietly, don't make any noise, don't look hostile. It wouldn't do to get shot by the Rangers because he was sneaking around the camp after dark. Boone wasn't good at acting casual, but he tried, and he listened as hard as he could as he approached Gunnar and the other man.

"…did good in there. You saved a lot of lives today. More than I could've by myself."

Something unintelligible. Alone?

"I know. I'll stay with you. C'mon, let's get some food and maybe you and I can have a drink to settle your nerves."

"He can't drink," Boone said, loudly. Both the men jumped, and Gunnar looked up, but it wasn't the same glad welcome as when Boone had returned to Camp Golf.

"He'll get sick." Boone walked up to them. The doctor got to his feet; Gunnar did not.

"You must be First Recon Boone," the doctor said. He didn't hold out his hand. "I'm Dr. Alex Richards."

"I don't care if you're Caesar, you're not getting him drunk. C'mon, Gunn."

"I wasn't aware you two were together," Dr. Richards said coolly.

"We're — " Boone stopped, then said, "together, yeah. We're traveling together." He glanced at Gunnar, who'd dropped his head back to his folded arms across his knees. "Gunn."

"Mr. Volk was a big help in the surgery," Dr. Richards said. "But it's stressful if you're not used to it. He needs recovery time."

"With you, right?"

"Would you know what to do?"

"I wouldn't try to get him drunk," Boone growled.

Gunnar suddenly stood, and without looking at either of them, walked away.

Boone started to go after him, but Dr. Richards put a hand out and stopped him. "What do you plan to do? Yell at him for helping?"

"Is that what he said about me?" Boone wished he hadn't said that. 

"He's hurting, and you're not interested, so why don't you leave us alone?" 

Boone gritted his teeth. "I know him. He knows me. And I won't let you take advantage of him."

To his surprise, Dr. Richards laughed out loud. "Take advantage — !" He laughed, and Boone could see other Rangers looking curiously at them.

Dr. Richards was still smiling when he stopped laughing. "You're not interested in him. You like women. And that's fine. But you made your choice. Let him make his."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar crawled into his bedroll on top of the mattress. It was dark inside the tent, but he could still see things inside his eyes. Gangrenous tissue. Amputating a leg too far gone to save. Brain matter visible and dripping. The tangle of intestines and organs. The stench of blood and waste and the sounds of injured and dying men. All the horrors of bullet and sword and spear and bomb, ruined bodies and lives. He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to see any of it. He managed to not vomit until the end, and he just, he'd just wanted someone to hold him and not leave him alone.

He wasn't going to write, or do anything except curl into a ball. Maybe drink. He should have water, he knew, but there was still some scotch somewhere, and that would knock him out.

 _The drugs don't make the problem go away._ He'd said that to Stone. Even Boone had said — 

_Fuck Boone. I should've told him to stay at Golf._

He heard someone push back the tent flap that served as a door. Dammit. Gunnar held very still. If it were Alex, he'd respond. If it were Boone, he'd be asleep.

It was hard to tell who it was by sound alone, though, especially with the top of the bedroll over his head. 

"Hey." It was Boone. Dammit. 

Gunnar tried to hold very still. He heard Boone sit next to the mattress. _Go away._

"I guess you saw some rough stuff in surgery today," Boone said. "But better you were in there than on the line. I didn't want you out there, where the Legion might get you."

Gunnar kept still and listened.

"Look, Gunn… I'm glad you're not hurt. From the fighting. And you're not from here. I think you're from a Vault and you just don't remember it. And the Vaults are protected, they're safe." Boone took a deep breath. "You'll have nightmares for a while. Trouble sleeping. You'll see it again and again, in your head, in your dreams. It'll come back, over and over. And it's just as bad, for a long time."

Gunnar uncovered his head. "You said it was okay that I'm different."

That took Boone by surprise, from the sound of it. "Yeah, I said that."

"But it's not okay when I find someone else? Someone who, who pays attention to me and listens, and, look," he half sat up, "I get that you're not like me, but it's damn unfair to get angry when I find someone!" It probably would've sounded better if his voice hadn't cracked from the strain of not going crazy.

"Gunn — "

The tent spun around his head, and Gunnar felt detached from reality, as if he were sort of floating and numb. He knew Boone was holding him, but wasn't sure if he actually felt it. Gunnar tried to push away and couldn't.

"Gunn." Softer, kinder. Gunnar leaned his head forward to rest against Boone's shoulder. "It's okay," he heard Boone say. "You're not alone. I'm here. I'm staying here."

 _Fuck you Boone for making me care about you._ Gunnar bared his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to hold it in. 

"I'll take care of you. Just like those other times, right? When we took care of each other? Remember those? We kept each other alive. It's the same here. If you tell me to go to hell after, I'll go. But right now I'm here."

That did it. All the fear and trauma and hurt burst forth, and Gunnar tried to slam his fist against Boone but the angle was all wrong, the way he was being held, and he couldn't stop the hot tears or the angry words, incomprehensible as they were through the other noise. _You fucker! Let me go! Let me be free of you!_ Even as he didn't want to be let go.

 _Tomorrow I'm telling you to go to hell,_ Gunnar thought, but right now he'd lost it and he didn't want to be alone, he didn't. Even if the only choice was Boone.


	19. You Always Hurt the One You Love

Gunnar had exhausted himself and now slept uneasily on the mattress. Boone sat by him, waiting for the nightmares to start. If all Vault Dwellers were this innocent, it was a miracle Gunnar had lived this long outside of one. Boone wondered what it was like to live like that, to still believe people were basically good. To not have seen so much evil in the world. He hadn't been that way in a long time.

Gunn would pull through. He'd survived death itself and his own basic trusting nature, he'd survive this too. It would hurt like hell for a while. Boone knew that from his own —

Bitter Springs.

_You shouldn't get close to me. It's not over yet._

Evil came in threes, everyone knew that. Boone had lost Carla and Manny. Gunnar was the last one. Stars in his eyes and full of hope and wanting to help everyone. After Gunnar there wouldn't be anyone left for Boone to lose. Nothing and no one. 

He'd already made the decision to stay with Gunnar, because he had nothing and nowhere else. But if Gunnar died, or gave out, that was as bad as leaving. 

_I don't want to die yet._

He hadn't felt that way in a long, long time. Gunnar had given him hope. Tiny, fragile, easily crushed, but hope. And he'd turned his back on the man and called it letting him down gently.

 _I'm not like that._ He'd never been aroused by men. But damn fool Gunnar was… Boone wrestled with finding a word that didn't involve 'love' in it somewhere. Because if Gunnar had fallen hard for him, fallen _in love_ with him, then that was Boone's curse working, making sure to set him up for something even worse later.

It wasn't like Boone loved him back, after all. Sure, Cass was irritating, and how she'd told those stories that Gunnar had listened to and written down somewhere. And her knowledge of moonshine and how to make that purgative, that was useful, sure, but Cass herself had been a pain in the ass. And Dr. Richards had no business calling Gunn 'buttercup' or holding him like that, that was… 

Hell.

_Maybe I do like him._

And it was pretty damn unfair, Gunnar had said. Yeah. It was.

_So now what?_

~ ~ ~

Gunnar slept poorly, troubled by bad dreams and half-memories. The dead and mangled came after him. Not only those he'd tried to save, the ones he'd had to kill or be killed, and that idiot from Helios, his head half gone, maggots crawling in him, they all came for him. Gunnar struggled to climb higher in the darkness, feet slipping on rock which crumbled under his hands. They were right behind him, closing in.

"Gunn."

Boone was there, holding out his hand. Gunnar took it, and Boone pulled him to safety — but they were still coming —

Gunnar woke, breathing fast, entire body stiff and tense as though he were wound tight as a clock spring. Someone's hand was on his jaw, not covering his mouth, just turning his head. Gunnar's eyes rolled and opened.

Boone again. Gunnar wished it had been Alex or someone else, just to avoid getting hurt again and again — He closed his eyes. _Go away._

"Gunn? Answer me. Can you hear me?"

Gunnar took a deep breath and decided to give in. "Yes," he tried to say, though it came out strangled. His stomach roiled with nausea and didn't want to think or exist for a while. In fact, he was shaking, and he hated that.

"Here." A bottle of soda. Better than nothing, though it didn't help the shakes. Gunnar drank it, belched out the air and lay back against Boone's shoulder.

Boone’s shoulder? That hadn't been there a minute ago.

He took several uncontrollable, sharp quick breaths in succession, and dammit, Boone was _holding_ him. 

"You're safe. They can't get you. Okay?"

The dead things hovered on the edges. Gunnar's eyelids drooped despite how he felt, and he closed his eyes and half curled up. 

~ ~ ~

When Gunnar woke again, it was dim daylight inside the tent. He felt exhausted despite sleeping, but it hadn't been good sleep, his dreams chasing him across the wasteland. He still felt sick, and his mouth tasted awful. He looked around. A mattress had been pushed up against his, and Boone was asleep on it, next to him. 

Cass had been so right. Don't get hung up on a soldier. Well, he'd learned his lesson. He'd go see Alex this morning — afternoon — whatever time it was — and talk, or something. Or get his stuff together and get out of here.

He didn't move yet, though. He watched Boone breathing. 

_I shouldn't have fallen for him. That was the problem. I should've stuck with just helping him. I still could, even if he's an ass._ The Followers must have to deal with that sometimes; there were always those who rejected help and cursed you while you tried. 

Fine. He still needed some backup, that was definite. And he'd promised to help Boone reach Bitter Springs. He'd just have to get that done so it was no longer on his conscience.

Boone's hair was dark and fuzzy growing out, like velvet.

They were going to talk today, Gunnar decided. And probably yell at each other, and decide to call it quits. He thought he'd feel better about that, but he didn't.

~ ~ ~

He was still watching Boone when the sniper opened his eyes. Gunnar wasn't used to seeing Boone's eyes at all, behind those tinted shades (tinted to reduce glare, for sniping, he remembered). They were a very dark green.

"Are you okay?" Boone asked, in a quiet voice.

"No." True enough. 

Boone sat up. "What do you need?"

"I can take care of myself." Gunnar sat up too, and waited for the room to stop spinning.

"You could, but you're not well. Stay here."

"Like hell — " But Gunnar didn't get to his feet, because he felt shaky again.

Boone left and returned with Dr. Richards.

"Hello again, handsome," Dr. Richards said. He'd brought a medical kit. "Is it hot in here, or is it just you?"

It was a stupid, shopworn line and it made Gunnar smile anyway. He deliberately didn't look at Boone.

"There, things aren't all bad, are they now? You're probably just traumatized. I know, 'just' traumatized."

"Is it always that bad?" Gunnar asked, as Dr. Richards took his wrist to check his pulse. 

"In surgery? Often. The wounded come in, I patch them up, they go back out to get wounded again. The circle of life." His hand felt strong and sure on Gunnar's wrist. 

"Is there any way to stop it? The war?"

"I doubt it." Dr. Richards now looked at Gunnar's eyes, the light from the instrument making him squint. "Until one side or the other is dead, that is. You're probably dehydrated and I don't think you've eaten in twenty-four hours, so take care of those first."

Gunnar nodded. "Thanks." He would've liked to talk, but Boone was there, and now that food had been mentioned, he realized how hungry he was.

"You're welcome. You know where to find me." Dr. Richards winked at Gunnar, who smiled back, and left.

Boon extended a hand to Gunnar. "C'mon. I'll help you to the mess tent."

Gunnar considered. There was pride, and there was stupid pride. He was shaky from hunger and could use the help. He took Boone's hand, let himself be pulled to his feet, but determined he'd walk there himself, dammit, even if Boone was right there to catch him.


	20. You Call Everybody Darlin'

Gunnar couldn't eat the meat that day. It made his stomach churn just to look at it. But he ate everything else, and there was a good source of water here, and Alex was right: just getting food and water back into his system helped a good deal.

The Rangers were happy that he'd helped in surgery; they were desperately undermanned here, and morale was poor. Gunnar could sympathize. If this was what they regularly went through, no wonder. How the hell could he help them?

He could stop the war. Ha. 

"You're still going to try, aren't you?" Boone asked, interrupting his thoughts. "Stopping the war."

"Yeah. If I can."

"And if you can't?"

Gunnar shrugged. "Then I have to do something about the Legion. The NCR isn't perfect. But the Legion is worse."

Boone nodded. "When you're better, we'll work on that."

Like it or not, Boone was right. That's what they'd work on. "This camp needs supplies and help. I don't know if we can get them more troops, but there's got to be a way to get them supplies."

The radio was always on in the background, broadcasting from New Vegas. Most places Gunnar had visited were tuned to that station; it might be the only one. He paid it little mind, but then something caught his ear.

" — courier shot in the head near Goodsprings has regained consciousness and made a full recovery. Now that's delivery service you can count on! This next song — "

If the news had reached New Vegas, and was broadcast, probably because of the novelty of a head-shot victim surviving, then Benny would hear about it, if he hadn't already.

Boone looked alarmed too. "Let's resupply and figure out what we need to do," he muttered, scraping his plate clean with his spoon.

"Yeah. At least he probably won't think to look for me on the front lines."

~ ~ ~

"What's the holdup?"

"Had to get the tapes from the comm officer," Gunnar panted as he caught up to Boone at the gate. As part of the new plan of "keep moving, be hard to find, and also work against the Legion,” Gunnar had taken on some more courier missions for the NCR. In this case, taking new security codes to the different Ranger stations.

"Don't run so hard. Save your strength." 

They had an unspoken truce on arguing until they'd put Camp Forlorn Hope well behind them. By that time Gunnar didn't know if he had the energy to fight over anything; he had to focus on climbing down the rocks until they reached more or less level ground.

~ ~ ~

"There's six camps to visit," Gunnar said, pausing to pick some fruit from a barrel cactus. "The new codes have to go out; the comm officer thinks the Legion cracked the last ones."

"Fine by me. But what about Benny?"

"Benny's my problem. The Legion's everyone's problem. Even if I meet with Benny and he tells me why he had me shot, even if I shoot him back, it doesn't make much of a difference, does it? But if the Legion comes through, it'll destroy a lot of lives." Another barrel cactus. "The NCR isn't perfect either, but the Legion's worse. Much worse. And I didn't forget about Bitter Springs, either."

"I guessed you hadn't. Not in any real rush to get there yet anyway." Putting everyone else first, as usual. Boone had already resigned himself to trying to save Gunnar and the Mojave, in that order.

~ ~ ~

It was like old times, before Camp Golf. Just the two of them, traveling, sometimes hunting, sometimes talking, sometimes just walking in companionable silence. Also sometimes fighting off giant bugs and stinging wasps, but that was the desert for you.

It couldn't last; Gunnar didn't want to pick a fight, but he shouldn't let Boone off the hook, either. Boone had to see sense about — 

Boone reached into his vest pocket and took out a small box. "Here." 

Gunnar took it. It was a small battered cardboard box, labeled "Doctor Optum's Pure Castile Soap". Mystified, he opened the box, and a hard green oval bar of soap slid into his hand.

"Since you like being clean," Boone said, looking ahead rather than at Gunnar.

"You found an unopened, unused bar of soap?" That had to cost some real caps. At least, Gunnar assumed so. You could make soap nowadays — fat, and water dripped through ashes? something like that — but this was pre-war, and for it to be untouched was a miracle.

"You like it?" Boone finally tilted his head toward Gunnar.

"I do. Thanks." Gunnar made a small amused noise. "I think in the old days, if someone gave you a bar of soap, it was a hint that you smelled bad."

"I wasn't going to say it — "

Gunnar threw a good-natured punch at Boone's arm. "No worse than you do." But he was pleased, and reboxed the soap to save for later. "Thanks, Boone."

Boone cleared his throat, like he was nervous. "Craig."

"What?"

"My name… it's Craig."

"Oh. Then… thank you, Craig."

"Just figured you'd like it, that's all. Then I don't have to hear you complain about being dirty and wishing there was a bath nearby."

Gunnar smiled, then sobered, as Boone saw something that might be danger, or food, or both, and veered to one side to stalk it. Dammit, just when he'd convinced himself that he was over the sniper, Boone had to be nice. Really nice. And thoughtful. And also nervous and unsure how to give a gift, because that's what this was. 

_Don't fall for it, Gunnar._ But it was hard not to.

~ ~ ~

"Do we have any vodka left?"

"Only the stuff in the purgative bottle."

"Euch. No, that can stay there. If we get some more, I'm going to chop up the jalapenos and see if I can make hot sauce from it."

"It might help." Boone eyed the grilled mantis leg before him. "But food's food."

"Sure, but — "

"But wherever you're from, you put hot sauce on roasted bug?"

Gunnar didn't answer right away. "I don't know," he said at last.

"I thought you remembered more," Boone said. "It seemed like it."

"I remember things from before. Things I learned, I think, from…" It had slipped away again, and Gunnar shook his head angrily. "But it's not about _me._ I still don't remember a family, or a home, or, I don't know, a birthday party or things like that."

"I still think you're from a Vault."

"Maybe." Frankly, Gunnar was tired of mantis legs, but given the choice of mantis or nothing, mantis won out. "I don't know if I'll ever know."

"Maybe if you get shot in the head again."

Gunnar shot Boone a dark look. "That's not funny. And it wouldn't work. I don't think I'd get to live a third time. You don't break a bone again to heal it."

"Guess not. Sorry."

"Sure."

Gunnar stuck the sharp end of the leg into the ground. "Boone. About, um, about recently."

"Yeah."

Silence except for the quiet crackle of the campfire.

Gunnar had the wild thought of saying, "Well, that's that. Good talk. G'night!"

They both began to speak, stopped, and stared at the fire again. 

"Are you going to eat that?" Boone asked. Gunnar passed him the mantis leg.

"I think I had someone, before," Gunnar said. He drew up his knees and rested his chin on his crossed arms as he stared at the flames. "I don't think I was alone. I don't want to be alone. I don't know if I'll ever know. Are they looking for me? Do they wonder what happened to me? Maybe they think I'm dead. Maybe they think I took off for cigarettes and never came back."

Birds called in the distance.

"If they're looking for you, they would find your last job, wouldn't they?" Boone suggested. "If they knew you were a courier."

"Maybe. I wrote about it, when I first started keeping the diary. That I don't remember. I ask for their forgiveness. Stuff like that." Gunnar shrugged. "Because maybe I'll even see them again someday, and what if I don't remember them then, either? Especially if I've found someone else by then." There it was. "Because I can't keep living like… I can't be ruled by a past I don't remember. You know? What if it never comes back?"

"What if it does?" Boone hurled the gnawed leg away from camp.

"Then I deal with it when it comes. I don't know if I'll ever get my past back. I thought so, in the early days. But now I don't know. If it hasn't come back by now, I might never get it back."

Something in the wood hissed and popped in the fire.

"That's probably the best way to look at it," Boone admitted.

"Yeah. And why I won't feel guilty about finding someone else." Gunnar looked sideways at Boone. "I'm on my second chance. Whatever I did before, it's gone."

"You Vault Dwellers talk a lot."

Gunnar snorted. "Yeah. I guess I do. Still don't know if I came from a Vault."

Boone picked at something in his teeth, and Gunnar studied the flames.

"I, uh," Boone started, then fell silent.

 _Yep, good talk, I think we really covered things._ It was so easy to get back to the old ways. Just get back to what it had been, just the two of them. 

Lost in his thoughts, he was startled when Boone asked, "Did he really call you 'buttercup'?"

Gunnar burst out laughing. "Yeah. He did." And it felt good to be noticed like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and thanks for reading! If you like the story so far, please drop a kudo, or, even better, a positive comment - I will respond and treasure it. There is a lot more to come!


	21. Let's Go Sunning

"Why are these Ranger camps so far out of the way? All up in the mountains…"

"It wouldn't take so long if you didn't stop to strip every plant clean of fruit on the way."

"Only civilians make this much noise," said the Ranger as she stepped from cover. "Did you two get lost? What're you doing up here?"

"Looking for a Ranger camp." Gunnar consulted his list. "Foxtrot. I've got new radio security codes from Camp Forlorn Hope."

"And they sent civilians?" She shook her head and clicked on her handheld comm unit. "Foxtrot, this is Charlie One, two civvies bringing new codes, send someone down to confirm, over."

~ ~ ~

They didn't talk about the elephant in the room, but they hadn't forgotten, either. It was just easier to not bring it up. Traveling wasn't too bad, they had enough food, why start an argument? Why bring up anything unpleasant? But it hadn't gone away.

~ ~ ~

"What's a recreation area?" Boone frowned at the pre-war sign Gunnar had read aloud.

"People would come here to have fun. They'd go fishing or swimming, make a campfire and cook over it — "

"Swimming? In there?" Boone didn't trust the lake. _Things_ lived in lakes. Things that crawled out under dark of night…

"Well, yeah. And boating, too, if those piers are any indication." Gunnar went to look. "Yeah, here's the remains of the boat ramps. They'd drive up in their cars, bringing boats or canoes. Take them out on the lake for the day."

"What about the lake monsters?"

Gunnar laughed. It was a happy sound, not a teasing one. "There weren't any, back then. Your biggest problem was probably getting drunk and falling into the water and not knowing how to swim."

"And I suppose you know how."

"Of course I — of course I do." Gunnar grew thoughtful. "I think." He shook his head.

"And we cook over fires all the time," Boone continued.

"Yeah, but this is different. People used to live in the houses and cook on stoves and ovens, and sleeping outdoors and cooking food over fire was a rarity. You did it for fun." He didn't need to see Boone's face at that statement. Even a Vault dweller wouldn't know about this. Would they? That was ancient history. But he could see it in his mind, still pictures, slowly moving like pages in a flip-book.

"There's probably still fish in the lake," Boone said, eyeing it with mistrust. "Monsters have to eat something."

 _"Boone._ What kind of monsters could there be?" 

"Lurks. Water snakes. Water striders."

Gunnar started to laugh at that last, then stopped. Giant water bugs, he could believe, given the size of mutant insect life he'd already encountered. He stepped down to the water's edge, on a small beach of coarse sand, and looked out over the sparkling water. Then he checked his Pipboy, frowned at it, fiddled with it. "This lake's clean," he finally said.

"It's not full of rads?"

"The Pipboy says no." Gunnar looked out over the water. The sun was high, it was a warm enough day. "I'm going for a swim."

"The hell you are!"

"I'll stay close to shore, okay? Since the lifeguard isn't on duty."

"You can't talk your way out of trouble with a monster," Boone said.

 _"Yes,_ Boone." Gunnar undid his jacket and removed it. "Just like with the ants and the scorpions and everything else out here. You'll just have to stand guard."

~ ~ ~

Which Boone did, as Gunnar stripped down, then took his clothes and the bar of soap into the lake. "It's a little cold," Gunnar called. Boone kept an eye on the surroundings, not Gunnar.

Gunnar washed the clothes, wrung them out, and hung them on a Joshua tree to dry in the sun. He left the soap with them and went back to the lake.

The feel of water. He'd remembered that, and yes, he could swim, though never quite like this, skinny-dipping. No swimsuits in the wasteland, he mused, and dove under.

~ ~ ~

Boone didn't like seeing Gunnar go under, because dammit, if some tentacled thing grabbed him, bullets couldn't penetrate water. But then the redhead popped back up, waved to Boone, and kept swimming.

Dammit. Boone wasn't going to relax until the man was back on dry land. 

~ ~ ~

It took a while, but Gunnar got tired of swimming, and nothing had attacked him. With any luck his clothes were dry, too. He waded out of the water onto the beach and tried to wipe the excess water from his arms and legs.

"See?" he called to Boone, who sat grimly disapproving as any spinster aunt. "It was safe."

"This time," he thought he heard Boone respond. Be that way, he thought. He felt cleaner and better for the swim, though how he was supposed to dry off — well, air dry, he guessed. No other choice at the moment, not with his clothes nearly dry; he wasn't going to walk in damp clothes the rest of the day.

"If you want to wash up, I'll stand watch," he offered.

Boone looked like he wasn't sure whether to be offended or laughing. "What, you'll put on a rifle and that's it?"

Gunnar did laugh at that. "What's your problem, anyway?" he said cheerfully. "I thought in the army, you had to give up privacy."

"That's different."

"Because it's me?"

"Yes!"

That sounded like it came out more forcefully than intended. "Sorry," Gunnar offered.

Boone shook his head. 

~ ~ ~

The sun and the breeze did their work, Gunnar dressed, and they set off. "I feel ten times better," Gunnar said. 

Boone grunted.

"Look, Boone — we never really took care of — "

"Not calling you buttercup."

What? "I… hadn't planned on it." Where had that come from? 

"Gunn…" Boone trailed off. 

And back to not speaking, Gunnar thought. "Okay, I'll start. We're going back to Hope, and I'm going to talk to Alex. Dr. Richards."

Boone grimaced. "Fine by me."

"Boone, knock it off. Don't be a dog in a manger."

"A dog in a what?"

"A dog in a manger. A manger's where you keep the food for the cattle, and… it's an old story. There's a dog in the manger, and anytime the brahmin try to get some food, the dog barks and growls and won't let them. The dog can't eat the brahmin food, but it won't let any of the brahmin eat it either."

"Hadn't heard that one before," Boone muttered. 

"Well, stop doing it. I like you, Boone, I really do." Despite everything. "But if we're not together, I get to make my own affairs."

~ ~ ~

"How do you know you had someone?" Boone asked. "Before."

"I don't. But I think I did. Because I don't like being lonely."

And Gunnar liked helping others, Boone thought. Of course he would've found someone. He was so damn nice to everyone, and… 

"What if you did remember them? Or they find you? What'll you do then?"

"I… can't even picture that." Gunnar shifted his pack. His shoulders hurt, probably from the swimming. He'd sleep soundly tonight. "I mean — I don't know what I'll do. Because I can't remember them, or what they were like, or even if they're alive or dead — so I can't plan what would be the best way to handle it. If I ever see them again, maybe I still won't remember them. Maybe they'll just be a nice stranger who has a history with me that only they know." Another shift of the pack; they'd make camp soon and he could take off the pack and let his shoulders ease. "And I'll tell them, I don't remember. And if I'm with someone else by then… I'll ask them to forgive me."

"Ask which one?"

"The… before-person. It won't be their fault. But they might be angry at me anyway." Now Gunnar shook his head. "I just don't know, and I can't prepare for it, so I just don't think about it much. It's better if it doesn't rule me."

~ ~ ~

The ache in his shoulders was real, but so was the mild sunburn.

"Good thing most of me stayed underwater," Gunnar said, as he squeezed some aloe tips to get the healing ooze out. He'd taken his shirt off, and now tried to rub the aloe into the burn. It could've been worse. Then again, Boone could offer to help, but the sniper was opening some pre-war canned food they'd found in a cache.

"This is… something green and lumpy." Boone showed the open can to Gunnar.

"That's peas." The labels were long gone, but the cans themselves were intact and rust-free.

"Are they worth eating?"

"Canned peas? I'd rather go hungry. What's in the next one?" 

"Smells like pork and beans."

"That's beanie-weenies."

Boone laughed out loud.

"Seriously! Beanie-weenies!" But saying it made Gunnar laugh too. "Okay, it's a silly name, but that's what it is!"

Boone was still chuckling. "Will that suit your taste this time?"

"Sure, I guess so."

"Good, because out of three cans, two are… beanie-weenies." Boone began laughing again. Gunnar did too; it was good to laugh, and good to see Boone like this. 

It felt good to Boone, too, to laugh. For a little time, he felt better. Felt more alive than he had in a long time.

He was still smiling over the ridiculous name of the food when he looked at Gunnar. They hadn't set a fire tonight, but there was enough moonlight to see the soft expression in Gunnar's eyes, to go with the warm smile.

Boone quickly looked back to the opened cans. He wasn't ready for that. Not yet. He held out the can. It was a warm night, wasn't it. Didn't need a fire. 

Gunnar took it. "These are the peas," he said.

Boone held out one of the other two cans, and they ate in silence, leaving the peas untouched. 

"If we had a dog, it might eat the peas," Boone said.

"I wouldn't blame it if it didn't, and dogs eat garbage," Gunnar said.

More silence, then cleaning up, and when Gunnar sat down again, he was right next to Boone.

"Nice night," he said.

Boone leaned back on both arms and looked up at the sky. When he leaned forward again, one arm was behind Gunnar. Not the shoulders, he told himself. Not the sunburn.

Just look at the sky ahead. Arm around him. Don't look. Not yet.

"Yeah," Boone said. "It is."

They sat that way a little while, Gunnar pointing out stars or patterns in the night sky. But something wasn't quite right; Boone was still tense, and Gunnar wasn't sure how he wanted to feel either. He shouldn't fall for this man, but he had. And it was still probably the wrong choice.

So after that little while, Gunnar said, "Well, I better get to sleep," and went to his bedroll. He put on his undershirt to protect his sunburn, climbed in, and fell asleep before he realized it.

Boone stayed where he was for a long time, staring into the dark.


	22. The Housewife's Lament

"Boone. Wake up."

Bitter Springs receded from his dreams as Boone woke. "What is it?"

"Wind's picking up."

Boone listened, at first thinking the other man was over worried about a breeze; but the wind was gusting and driving sand before it. It was still night, but the moon had moved in the sky. 

"Yeah," he agreed. Better to seek shelter, except there wasn't any close by. They might make it to those hills, but Boone didn't remember any shelter there either. They might try to stay put, cover up with what they had and try to ride it out. None of this appealed. 

The wind decided it for them. Cover the weapons, cover nose and mouth, then blanket and bedding over all to shield them from the worst of it.

Gunnar had woken because of his own bad dreams, and now he huddled next to Boone. The wind howled around them, and in the dark with his eyes closed, he couldn't look at his (covered) Pipboy to see the time. It might be hours; it certainly felt like it. 

The wind howled outside, and he thought he heard screams. Just the wind, he told himself. Just the wind. Of course people came up with — with — things that would scream in the wind.

If they'd tried for the hills they might have gotten separated. 

It was a, a warehouse, no, a _place where automobiles are fixed_ and there was a computer, and he had a _thing that you put into the computer to make things go_ and the lights went out, and the big man was angry

Gunnar's eyes flickered open. Dream? Memory? He swayed in place as he sat, head lolling forward again. _No more noise._ Next time stuff something in his ears, anything.

When he woke next, it was because the wind had stopped. He was still alive, and apparently unharmed. 

…Why wouldn't he be alive?

Gunnar shook his head, trying to clear it, and heard sand slide off the blanket covering them. "Boone," he croaked.

"Nngh."

"Me too. I think it's over."

They hadn't been buried, just a light covering, but it still meant sand had gotten into things despite their best attempts. Boone checked the weapons while Gunnar tried to shake out the bedding. Less than a day ago he'd just gotten everything clean, including himself. _And she lay down and died and was buried in dirt._

Boone looked at the dawn. "Well," he said after a moment, "at least this time nobody got shot in the head before getting buried."

It took Gunnar a moment to realize what he meant, then he laughed despite himself. "Yeah. It's an improvement."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar cursed as he shook yet more sand out of his boot. "I was wearing these. How could a pound of sand get in each boot?"

"I hope you don't want to go back to that lake."

Gunnar hadn't thought of that before, but now it was sorely tempting. "No," he finally sighed. "We've got to get back to Hope. They had a stream up there. I'll check its rad level and — "

"And strip down and bathe in the creek?" Boone's tone included _you can't be serious._

"What, now there are creek monsters I should worry about? Salamanders? Dippers?"

"What're those?" Boone asked warily.

"Salamanders shoot fire and dippers walk under water." Gunnar didn't feel like explaining what they really were, and it backfired.

"The hell?" Boone looked downright alarmed.

"No, not really," Gunnar sighed. "Anyway the creek must be at least sort of safe, because that's their water supply up there, right? So, yeah, I'll wash everything while we're up there."

Boone grumbled about the "creek monsters" under his breath.

~ ~ ~

Neither one was in any real hurry to get back to Camp Forlorn Hope; either before, or at, the camp itself, something had to get resolved, in one way or another. 

_You can only put off your doom for so long,_ Gunnar thought, and wondered if that was from a book, or if he'd heard someone say it. It didn't sound like something he'd come up with himself. But he wondered how it would play out. It all hinged on Boone, in a way. Gunnar had made it clear what he wanted: someone to be with. Someone to love, to be around, to share his life.

What did Boone want? Gunnar wasn't sure. It was hard to tell what went on behind that stone face. So how would it end? 

Because, dammit, Dr. Alex Richards at least _noticed_ Gunnar, even if the pet names were a little silly, and —

Gunnar's foot slipped on a rock, but he caught himself and kept going. 

But to stay here, at this undermanned, underprovisioned, war-torn camp? Gunnar would probably have to sign up with the NCR, and then he'd be at the mercy of the army to decide where he went, and while he knew medicine, he didn't want to patch up bodies and cut off limbs for the rest of the war. If he was going to do something about the Legion, he'd do it on his own terms, in a way that would make a difference.

Still. Gunnar was tired of the not knowing. Tired of waiting for an answer. Maybe Forlorn Hope would provide one.

~ ~ ~

"Boone."

They'd stopped just out of sight of the camp entrance. 

"Yeah?"

Gunnar took a deep breath. Boone spoke first.

"I can't… You can make your own way," Boone said, checking his rifle as though something were wrong with it.

"That's it?" Gunter asked after a pause long enough to be called a gap.

"Yeah." Boone finished with the rifle and finally looked directly at Gunnar, eyes still hidden behind the tinted lenses.

"I… See." And that was that. "Okay." No good words for this. "I guess we better get up there, then."

"Sure."

Now he had his answer. Forlorn hope, indeed.


	23. You're a Sweet Little Headache

They separated upon entering the camp. Gunnar went to the comm officer first and turned in his report. Then he was offered, and took, an assignment to check on Camp Guardian, whose radio signals were intermittent.

~ ~ ~

Then off to the creek, which had rules about where and how to use the clean water; and civilians washing clothes wasn't allowed. He could use the shower, though, and get the sand from his person.

It felt very normal, very everyday, and Gunnar tried to keep it that way. Now he knew. He'd look for someone else on the way to Guardian. That was that. 

He dressed and left the shower, and —

"Well, hello, hot stuff!" Dr. Richards smiled at him. "I was about to clean up myself. Are you here for long?"

"Overnight," Gunter said, smiling. He didn't feel like it, but he did anyway.

"How about I treat you to dinner? I imagine you do most of it. And I swear it'll be better than army food." Richards held up his hand as if making an oath.

"Sure. Sure, I'd like that." 

~ ~ ~

Boone's pack held the liquor.

It was heavy and a pain in the back to carry, when all they would do was sell it anyway, but Boone had abided by Gunnar's wishes. Now he thought he could get good and drunk with it. Because why not? It wasn't like he couldn't do so now. 

But he didn't, not yet. He resupplied, found a place he could sleep tonight, and found himself at loose ends. He didn't know what their plans were, or even if — 

This was the second time he didn't know where Gunnar would be tonight. 

It was the second time something had gone wrong.

Boone found a place where he could drink alone, looking over the river at the Legion fires. He pulled the first bottle out of his pack, unscrewed the top and took a slug.

Then spat it out and squinted at the bottle. What was this? Not the usual hard liquor. Some kind of wine, from the fruity taste. Boone couldn't detect any alcohol in it at all, but the label swore it was wine.

He checked the next bottle. Same stuff. The last bottle was vodka, and he remembered that label; it was a very harsh drink. But it would work. 

~ ~ ~

Combed hair, reasonably clean teeth, would be good to have cleaner clothes but this was as good as it got. It was like back in Novac — 

— don't think about that — 

— except then, Gunnar had had hope. Now it felt like he was getting ready for a, a, what was the word? He glared at himself in the scrap of mirror hanging to the tent pole. _A time when you had to be perfectly clean and dressed in better clothes._

It didn't matter. It did, but he wouldn't let it matter. 

~ ~ ~

"Sit down, relax. Here." Dr. Richards — Alex — poured two small glasses of something.

"I don't drink," Gunnar said automatically. He did sit, on one of the two chairs at the rickety table.

Alex looked surprised. "You don't?"

"No." Gunnar shook his head slightly and smiled. "It makes me sick."

"Oh. Well, as a doctor, I'd have to say that's a good reason. Soda?"

"Sure." Gunnar accepted a Nuka-Cola bottle. He didn't need the caffeine. His heartbeat was already faster than average, but it wasn't a good feeling. 

"So you don't drink at all?" Alex asked, working at the twin pair of hot plates on the little counter. Gunnar suspected all of that was on loan; the doctor wouldn't need all this for everyday.

"No." Gunnar popped the cap off the bottle.

Alex shook his head, amused. "I think you're the only adult in the Mojave who doesn't. So what news do you bring?"

"I'm heading back out tomorrow. Checking in on something for the NCR."

"Just you? Traveling alone now?"

Gunnar shrugged with one shoulder. "Yeah."

"You don't sound too happy about it." Alex produced two white ceramic plates and sets of mismatched tableware.

"I'll get over it." He had to. And it wasn't as if everyone hadn't warned him. Live and learn, put your heart away in a vault where it'll be safe, and don't let it back out where it can get hurt again. 

~ ~ ~

There were so many things wrong that Boone didn't try to count them.

He'd tried to let Gunn down gently — failed that. Tried to not get attached — failed that. Found excuses to put him down, that was a good one. Couldn't give a straight answer.

This vodka was really terrible stuff. Might not even be vodka, just something in a vodka bottle. If it was poison — 

That'd be a stupid way to die, drinking wood alcohol or one of those other prewar chemicals. Boone could remember when some recruits had found a case of cans labeled _Eskimo Antifreeze_. Someone remembered that Eskimo Pies were pretty good, and this stuff had tasted sweet. Boone hadn't been there, which was good, because it had killed everyone who drank it.

Maybe he should stop.

That incredibly sweet wine better not be poison, either, but at least he'd spit it out.

After Carla, before Gunn, he'd been numb inside. Just waiting to avenge Carla and then go to his death. He'd avenged her, and now what? The numbness might've been better. Now he just felt rotten.

 _I'm just trying to protect him,_ he told himself. _Sooner or later, if he sticks with me, he'll get killed._

A smartass might say _Sooner or later everyone dies anyway._

_But I don't want to be the cause of it._

_Who says you are? He survived a bullet to the brain. How many people can claim that? He's damn lucky if you ask me._

Boone blinked against the gathering dark. That almost sounded like Carla, in his head. Boone shook himself. Yeah, time to stop the vodka. Maybe use this to make more of that purgative next time.

_He gave you a second chance._

Boone paused. The Legion fires glowed across the river. 

This army doctor was educated. Man of science, like Gunn. Smooth talker, too. Everything Boone wasn't. And liked guys, too, and didn't care who knew it, which Boone wasn't very steady with yet.

_And Gunn still liked you and gave you every chance in the world. What were you waiting for, a written invitation?_

_Because —_

_Because he makes me feel alive again, and if he dies because of me —_

Some kind of commotion over the river. Boone watched without really caring.

~ ~ ~

"You were right," Gunnar said, scraping his plate clean with his fork. "Not what I expected from army food."

Alex laughed. "It isn't army food, that's why. Sure, the mess hall's slop is edible and usually I don't have free time or inclination to do my own cooking. But I can cook, sure."

"I cook most of the time. I mean, I know what I like, what I can make, it's not too much trouble. And usually better than whatever ancient food cans we can dig up."

"Let me guess. Canned peas?"

Gunnar laughed. "Exactly! I never liked — I never — " He stopped. He'd almost had a memory, of something, somewhere — 

"Gunnar? Are you okay?" 

He realized Alex was waving his hand in front of his face. "Yeah, just… trying to remember something. Maybe it'll come back later."

"If you're sure. You had me worried, there." Alex picked up the dishes and took them to the little counter, and turned on the radio. With dinner over, he shut off the lantern lighting the tent. After a moment, Gunnar's eyes adjusted to the dimness, now lit by the glow of the radio dial. There was only one station, of course, but right now the music was slow and quiet.

_Do you want to dance and hold my hand?  
Tell me I'm your lover man_

sang the man on the radio, he and his backup singers making it sound like something much more sultry.

Gunnar still felt all on edge, and the food, while tasty, now sat like a rock in his stomach. Maybe this was a mistake. He could just say he wasn't feeling well and get out and go get his stuff and leave camp and be long gone.

"What's wrong?"

Concern. Actual _concern_ in Alex's voice, like he genuinely cared, and that felt so good for a change. "Just… nervous."

"About what?" Alex moved his chair out of the way and sat down on the narrow bed. He gestured for Gunnar to join him.

"Alex, I like you. I do."

"There's a 'but' in that sentence."

Gunnar made a rueful smile. "Yeah, I guess so. Just, coming off what happened, I'm… gun-shy, I guess." Or just messed up and needing some time to think.

"I don't blame you. C'mon." Alex patted the bed beside him, and Gunnar gave in and sat on the bed. "Broke your heart?"

Gunnar took a deep breath, exhaled. "Yeah."

Alex nodded as if this was old news. "I'm sorry, hot stuff." He put an arm around Gunnar's shoulders; that felt nice too. "Let me help you forget about him."

~ ~ ~

He'd been in love and it had hurt so bad when she was torn from him. He wasn't going to go through that again.

Boone realized the commotion across the river was some kind of event. Lots of torches going on there. Maybe the centurion was going to make a speech.

He already _was_ going through that again.

The realization hit Boone hard. He was already miserable. Sure, whenever something happened to Gunn — _if_ something happened — he'd feel worse, but in the meantime, he wouldn't feel like this.

He stood up, swayed, reached out to steady himself. Wouldn't that be a way to go, falling drunk off a cliff into the river.

~ ~ ~

It wasn't love and Gunnar knew it, but it felt so good to be wanted. To be held and feel someone's fingers on his face, to be kissed. The kissing set him on fire; it was warm and close, and what he wanted. What he _needed._

The only negative was that Richards smoked. Gunnar had seen him with a cigarette, before, after surgery; and the tobacco tasted harsh and dead-ash to Gunnar's mouth. 

They broke the kiss and Gunnar buried his head into Alex's neck. The doctor's hands patted his back, then began to pull up his shirt.

~ ~ ~

Maybe he could still find Gunn in time. Maybe they weren't yet going at it like crazed geckos. Maybe that doctor hadn't already gotten Gunn naked and underneath him and — 

Boone made himself focus. Find Gunn. Get him out of here. Tell him. 

Check the medical tent first. Wounded men, mostly sleeping, an NCR orderly half dozing in a chair. The orderly sat up when Boone came into the tent. "Can I — "

"Where's the doctor?" Boone asked.

"Dr. Richards is off-duty, but I might be able to help," the orderly said. "What's — "

"Where would he be?"

"He's off-duty, so I assume somewhere in the camp," the orderly said, with the cool tone of someone who knows they have a problem customer and therefore isn't going to put effort into this. 

Of course. The doctor must have some place of his own. He was higher rank than the troopers, he'd have a tent of his own. Shouldn't be hard to find. Boone ducked back out of the medical tent.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar backed away a little bit. His head felt light from nerves and kissing, and he'd be fine with just more of the latter instead of moving too fast.

"Something wrong?" Alex whispered.

"Alex, I — "

The tent flap snapped open and Boone burst into the tent. 

Gunnar, already on edge, didn't recognize him at first. _"Jesus Christ!"_ he screeched, and scrambled to get behind the bed for what puny safety it could afford.

Alex had leapt to his feet and backed into a corner of the tent, wary but not panicked. "I thought you said you were traveling alone!" 

"I am! Now!" Gunnar said from behind the bed, now realizing who it was. "What the hell, Boone!"

Boone looked at them — both still dressed, no evidence of anything — _like that_ — then looked directly at Gunnar. "Gunn, I — "

"What?" Gunnar's voice exploded. "What is it now? Is this how you get your kicks?"

"Gunn, listen to me — "

"Listen to you? I've _been_ listening to you! You made it pretty damn clear where you stood, which is you don't want me around, except when I might want to spend time with someone else! I'm sick of it! I — "

Someone else, more than one, silhouetted in the tent door. "Excuse me," came the even but hard voice, "If you'd all quiet down before someone gets thrown in a cell."


	24. Be Careful, It's My Heart

Gunnar ground his teeth together and stomped down the dark path from the camp. _He says one goddamn word I'm going to kill him. I swear it._

It didn't matter that he hadn't really wanted to do anything much with Dr. Richards. That might not have sat well, but Gunnar now realized he hadn't wanted to even be there except that Alex had wanted him there and obviously desired him, and Gunnar desperately needed affection now. But maybe he and Alex could have come to some agreement, but he'd _never know,_ would he, since it was unlikely he'd be welcome back anytime soon after being escorted out of camp for disturbing the peace.

_Go ahead, Boone. Say one word. Just do it so I can shoot you._

Boone had also been escorted out, and he now walked several steps behind Gunnar. They'd been given their belongings, and a firm and hearty "don't come back for a while". Nobody wanted a lovers’ screaming match in the middle of a war camp.

_Least of all me. Goddammit._

There was only one way down, and no way to outrun Boone in the night, down a hill, without a good chance of trip-and-fall and possibly breaking a bone. So Gunnar ground his teeth some more and kept moving, letting his fury drive him to the fastest pace the trail would allow. He could hear Boone's footsteps, but the man had the sense, or dumb luck, to not say anything right now.

Gunnar stopped to get his bearings and look at the time. Late at night. Great time to be out walking around in the wilderness with someone you were mad at.

He didn't _need_ Boone. He'd traveled the Mojave by himself, with a recovering head injury, and he'd survived. Of course he hadn't been stalked by Legion assassins and who knew what other people gunning for his head. But the point was still the same. He'd get to the nearest town and find someone else to travel with, just to be safe, and then he'd get on his way. 

Keep walking, keep on the move, get farther away from Camp Lost Hope and Ruined Reputation. Gunnar kept seething the whole way, and woe to the unfortunate geckos that crossed his path. The barn gun was on his back, but the Duzi was in his hand and firing as soon as he saw them. Of course his accuracy still wasn't that great, but at close range he didn't need to be too accurate, as long as he didn't mind the critter blown into tiny gobs instead of remaining a useful carcass. Gunnar didn't care right now. 

The walking eventually used up much of his anger, and it was now very late. He'd have to stop for sleep soon, but he told himself he could push on to Novac and sleep in his own room there, without fear, because _that door had a lock_.

Still Boone said nothing, just shadowed him the whole way back. Gunnar determined he wasn't going to give in. He was going to reach Novac, get to his room, and then collapse on the bed and not come out for at least a day.

And collapse would be right; he'd been up an awful long time now, and false dawn was on the horizon. His steps had slowed, but if he kept up the pace he'd still make it there just fine.

For the first time he looked back at Boone as he walked. "Don't you have somewhere else to go?" Gunnar snapped.

Boone didn't answer. Gunnar faced forward again.

"I thought we were going our own ways now," Gunnar said, and let his voice be bitter. "That's what you said, wasn't it?"

"I — "

Gunnar stopped and turned to face Boone full on. "Yes?"

Boone hesitated. "I made a mistake," he said at last.

"Really." 

"Yeah. I… was trying to tell you, I wouldn't… I wouldn't stand in your way if you went to him."

"You could've fooled me. You said I could go my own way. As in, we're not traveling together any more. And even if you mean that, you didn't exactly stay out of my way, did you!"

"No. I didn't mean that. Gunn. Just… stop talking and let me tell you. Please."

Gunnar took a deep breath, set his jaw, and nodded.

"I made a mistake. That mistake was… not… not staying with you." Gunnar could see Boone's nervous body language against the starlit sky. "I realized it. You said even if we make mistakes, we should try to make up for them."

 _Oh, damn, he's going to use my words against me._ But most of the anger faded, if not the resentment, and Gunnar kept his tongue.

"I'm sorry." Those two words had more emotion than Gunnar had heard in Boone's voice in some time. Boone paused so long that Gunnar wondered if he was done, but then the sniper spoke again. "I want to stay with you. I realized it tonight. I know everything went to hell. I… want to be with you." He took off his beret and ran a hand over the still-short dark hair. "If you'll take me back."

Gunnar wanted to throw it all back in his face. _You dumped me, remember? You broke my heart! Why should I give you a third chance?_

He didn't say those things, though he wanted to. He forced his fists to unclench. "I don't want to get hurt again," he said at last.

"Neither do I."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

"You said I don't know about love," Gunnar said, feeling lightheaded and like if he didn't move, he'd fly apart. "But I do know. I know that I used to have it, and I need it, and I want it back. And so help me — " He stopped before he might say something he couldn't take back.

"Yeah. I… I know." Boone put his beret back on. "I threw it away, before I understood. I won't do that again. I swear it."

"I want to believe you."

For the first time in the conversation Boone looked offended. "I never lied to you."

That was truth — Boone tended to evade or not answer, but as far as Gunnar knew, he hadn't lied. But. 

"…I don't know." Gunnar suddenly felt exhaustion wash over him. "I need time. I need to sleep." He needed to not think for a while, and not deal with any of this. "Let's go." He turned to begin walking again.

"We're going to Novac?"

 _I'm going there, sure._ "It's not much farther and it's a safe place to stay."

"Fine by me."

Gunnar concentrated on just moving, keep walking, one foot in front of the other, but he did notice when Boone began walking beside him. 

~ ~ ~

They made it in to Novac around dawn. Gunnar wondered if he'd been sleepwalking for the last half hour. At least few people were awake to see them, and potentially want to talk. Gunnar just wanted to drop everything he currently carried and get into bed. At this point he'd been awake nearly twenty-four hours, including a lot of walking, and even hunger took a back seat to sleep.

Boone had eaten while they walked, but he too was dragging when they entered the gates to the hotel. "Gunn — "

"You can sleep on the couch." Gunnar wasn't going to hint about sharing the bed this time. 

He found his key at the bottom of his backpack. The room was undisturbed — always a relief — and he'd worry about things after a good long dive into oblivion. He didn't want to think, or dream, or — 

His wish was granted within seconds after his head hit the pillow.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar woke to find himself the only one in the bed. That was odd; he must've overslept. He rose up on one elbow to ask where — 

— this wasn't home — 

— this was the room in Novac —

— and the name and memory were already gone from his mind. _Who? Who was it? Who was with me? Where is home?_

It was no use. It had all disappeared like a dry leaf in a fire, without even ashes to sift through.

Gunnar's heart ached. He'd been so close that time, he thought. Now it was all gone again. He curled around the second pillow, hoping it would come back. Maybe if he slept again it would.

It didn't.

~ ~ ~

Boone woke from his own uneasy sleep and squinted at the daylight coming between the boards over the windows. The light striped across the bed, and Gunnar who lay in a nearly fetal position, one arm across his face as if to protect himself. Nightmares again, maybe. 

Boone wanted to go to him, but given the past day, that might not be wise. So he watched him for a little while, and how the light slowly moved across the room with the passage of the day, until he too drowsed off again.

~ ~ ~

_I had a home._

Gunnar lay in the bed, the old bed in a room with boarded-up windows, in a scavenged town.

_I had a home. I don't remember it, but it was there, and I had someone._

It was bittersweet, because he’d _had_ a home; but now he didn't, and the same went for the someone. Maybe he would fully remember someday. His mind certainly seemed to be trying. 

But if his mind was worried about such existential matters, his body needed food, _now,_ and life went on, and so must he. Time to eat, resupply, rest a little more and leave at dawn, or close to it. Keep moving. Keep working.

So he did.

"What's the plan?" Boone asked when the day was mostly gone.

"We'll leave in the morning and head for Camp Guardian. Find out what's happening there." Gunnar kept repacking his backpack. "Then back to Benny, if I can. See if I can get some answers." 

Boone emptied his pack onto the made bed as well. The door was propped open to allow some light into the room.

"And yes, you're coming with me. One of those Legion hit squads could down me in no time," Gunnar said. 

"I said — "

"I know what you — sorry." Gunnar took a deep breath, counted to three. "I'm still pissed, Boone." He glanced at the contents of Boone's pack, then looked again. "What're these?"

"Some weird kind of wine." Boone handed one of the bottles to him. "It's too sweet to be real booze."

Gunnar turned the label to the light. "It's twenty-two proof. Yeah, that's pretty weak, but it's still wine." He opened the bottle and sniffed it. "Practically juice, but — I wonder if I could drink this."

"You'll get all silly again."

"You're probably right. Well, we can leave it here in the fridge." The hotel room had a nonworking refrigerator. All refrigerants had likely dissipated within a decade after the bombs fell, so they were mostly used as pantries now. 

Gunnar returned to packing. "Did you check at the store, see if they have any extra medical supplies?"

"I haven't been out of the room except to hit the latrine."

"Oh. Right." That was embarrassing. 

"Besides, you usually pick those up."

"Okay. I can do that." Gunnar set down the extra stimpacks. "There's got to be a way to… I don't know, make it easier to use these. Maybe some kind of auto-injector."

Boone shrugged.

"Boone — Look. I want to trust you on this. I just — " Gunnar threw his hands in the air. "You'd better be serious about this. If you back out again, I'll — "

"I won't."

Gunnar narrowed his eyes.

"Gunn. I won't back out again. I won't."

The silence stretched out as neither one blinked.

"No more chances, Boone," Gunnar said, slightly shaking his head but not breaking eye contact. 

"I know."

Boone put his hands flat on the bed and leaned forward. "But you said mistakes should be made right. Give me that chance."

Gunnar looked to the open door. Late afternoon. 

Head to Camp Guardian, check on them, come back. That would be enough time to know. And from Novac, Vegas was close enough for Boone to start somewhere else, and for Gunnar to find a new bodyguard and traveling companion.

"Okay," he said at last, facing Boone again. "You're on."


	25. Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall

"How the hell do we get up there?"

Gunnar couldn't figure this out. Camp Guardian was up on a mountain peak, probably wherever a water source was. If you had water, you could withstand a siege for a long time. Assuming you could even find the way to the top. Gunnar raised his hat and scratched his head.

They'd come across a trader with a duster and cowboy hat for sale, which Gunnar had purchased and begun wearing. The hat kept the sun out of his eyes, anyway. 

"There's got to be a path," he continued. "Just… damn. Someone picked out a good safe spot."

"Mm." Boone was looking through a set of binoculars they'd picked up from the same trader. "Looks like scorpions, too."

"We've got plenty of daylight left. We should be able to find the way up."

~ ~ ~

"God only knows how they get supplies up here," Gunter panted. He bent over, hands on knees, to catch his breath.

There were two kinds of giant scorpions, as if one wasn't enough, and of course winding mountainside trails with steep dropoffs. It was very defensible, but Gunnar wasn't sure he'd trust a brahmin not to fall off the side on the way up.

"They should still be able to send radio signals," Boone said. "But maybe the line of sight isn't as good as it should be."

They'd traveled here just like old times. Mostly like old times. Gunnar was still leery of risking his heart again, so he was a little more standoffish than before; and Boone hadn't exactly done anything to dispel that. But they hadn't bickered or argued, just talked sometimes and gotten on with the routine. 

"Damn."

Boone spoke quietly, but Gunnar still lifted his head, concerned. "What?"

"Radstorm coming. Let's keep going and find the camp. There's got to be shelter up there."

"If we ever find a trader with even a puptent, I'm buying one," Gunnar said, squaring his shoulders. "Let me get ahead of you."

"Checking for traps again?" Boone was almost smiling.

"There better not be any." But Gunnar smiled back anyway before he caught himself. "Just shoot the bugs before they get close."

They'd almost reached the camp when Gunnar stopped to look at his Pipboy.

"What is it?" Boone thought the storm was still far enough off. Plenty of time to find shelter.

"I'm picking up a radio signal."

"You can get the radio on that thing? You never said."

"I don't need a radio on all the time." Or most of the time, or anytime. "It's an SOS."

Gunnar turned up the volume so Boone could hear it. One man, calling for help, wounded and bleeding. _Bravo, come in, Bravo. Is anyone out there? The camp was attacked. I think I'm the only one left alive. We were attacked by some kind of freak mutants from the caves. Please send backup! Guardian is down. I repeat Guardian is down. Requesting backup from any nearby forces._

"It's on a repeater," Gunnar said, after the message looped. "I hope he's still alive. We've got to find these caves."

The caves were not hard to find. The entrance was close to the camp, where Boone shot some rats investigating the food.

"Not good," Gunnar muttered. "And is anything in the Mojave normal-sized?" The rats were bigger than any he remembered. They'd give medium-sized dogs a run for their money. 

"The caves'll be safe from the storm," Boone said, checking the sky. "Let's go." 

"Should rats already be here?" Gunnar asked, as they entered the cave.

"Not unless something happened to the troops here. Just like anywhere." 

Gunnar turned on the Pipboy light when they entered. A headlamp would have been better, but this was it. The cave was uneven, nearly pitch black, and full of twists. "If you see anything, try not to shoot me," he told Boone. 

“No promises.”

"Real funny." Gunnar only hoped the light would blind anything in the cave long enough for them to dispatch it. 

Within a short while he had the feeling he was lost. Getting lost in tunnels and caves, not something he looked forward to, the feeling of being trapped in the rock, in the dark, unable to get out —

Calm down, he told himself, and took a couple of breaths to steady his heart. It's just a cave. Lots of room. Never go anywhere you have to squeeze through. That's all. 

~ ~ ~

"I thought I was gonna die down here," Private Halford said. It had been his SOS on the repeater.

"You'll make it. You did a good job," Gunnar said. "I can stabilize your leg and we can get you back to the camp. It should be safer there."

"Where’s the rest of the squad?" Boone asked, watching the tunnel in either direction.

"I got separated from them when the lurks attacked. They might still be down there." Private Halford had a weakly guttering lantern and two bullets left. A dead mirelurk lay not far away.

"We'll find them," Gunnar promised. "But I want to get you back to the camp, topside."

"How did lurks get into a mountain cave?" Boone asked. "They live in the water."

"Later. Okay, Private, can you stand? Lean on me. Boone, cover the rear. C'mon, there you go. Let's get you out of here." 

~ ~ ~

At the camp, Boone checked the perimeter while Gunnar set Halford up in one of the tents. The radstorm was nearly upon them.

"I'm getting out of here as soon as I can," Halford said. "This wasn't what I signed up for. Not monsters in caves."

"Wait here for us to get back," Gunnar said. "It's not safe to go alone, especially injured. We'll go back with you."

"You're going back in?" Halford asked. 

"Of course. If we find your squad, we'll get them out, or confirm what happened to them." 

"Just the two of you?" Halford looked from Gunnar to Boone, who had returned. 

"Just the two of us," Boone confirmed.


	26. A Fine Romance

There were indeed lurks in the tunnels. Gunnar couldn't imagine how NCR troops had been taken down, but he might never know what had really happened. It did look like the soldiers had killed most of the lurks in the process, for what that was worth.

Gunnar took the dog tags to return them to the NCR, and any useful or personal items as well. 

Then he and Boone found the egg chamber. That explained it. The lurks had defended their clutch, things went from bad to worse and that was that. 

There were still some lurks here, actually, and Gunnar wished he could use the barn gun, because as much as he preferred to leave wild things alone, finding the dead troopers made him want to destroy the whole cavern.

After the lurks were killed, which was also harder than it sounded and took longer than expected, Boone and Gunnar found the tunnel of water. 

"I bet this goes to the lake," Gunnar said, "under the mountain. So they come up here to lay their eggs, where it's safer from predators." Probably giant rats or bugs, given the local wildlife.

"We've got dynamite," Boone said. "And we've accounted for all the soldiers at the camp."

"Yeah."

"So let's blow this up. Crash the cavern. Then take Halford back to give his report. What's wrong?"

Gunnar was staring at one of the dead lurks. "It looks like — like —" The words wouldn't even come.

"Like what? Fish? Monster?" Boone stepped closer.

"No, it's — the, the thing in the story! That moves!" He could see it in his mind's eye, but couldn't even see the words. The frustration made him angry, and he slammed his fist against the rock wall, which hurt because a jagged rock wall always wins.

Gunnar sucked in his breath and held his now-stinging hand. "I can't remember the words!" he cried, wishing he could, angry that he couldn't.

Boone put his arm around Gunnar's shoulders and pulled him in. "You will."

Gunnar pressed his cheek against Boone's. Lost words. Lost memories. Lost home. Lost mind? He closed his eyes as Boone's arms went around him.

Steady. Calm down. And he did. It felt good, Boone steady as any rock. After a moment Gunnar put his arms around Boone, and they stood together in the near-dark.

~ ~ ~

After a while Gunnar let go. "Thanks," he said. "That helped."

"Thought it might." Boone let him go. "You going to be okay now?"

"Yeah. I'm good. I think we can go." Gunnar swept the light around the cavern filled with the dead. "I hate the idea of collapsing the cave. It'd be a retreat if you had to. There's fresh water down here, from the lake."

"Which lurks can come through."

"Yeah, maybe some kind of grate to keep them out. And it's really damp down here, that wouldn't be good for storage, would it." Gunnar looked around. "Could we get that boulder across the tunnel opening? That would keep the lurks out."

"Why do you want to do this?" Boone looked at the water tunnel. "There's nobody left at the camp, after we take Halford out."

"If the NCR wants to keep the camp going, they'll have to deal with this sooner or later."

"So let them deal with it."

But Boone helped him anyway, getting this huge rock in place above the waterway. It wasn't a snug fit, but Gunnar hoped most lurks would get tired of trying to lift it and look for easier places to lay their eggs.

Now they had to find their way back out, with only one mistaken turn that got them to a side exit out to the mountain and fresh air. "Good to know there's a back door," Gunnar said, when they exited. "I think we can get back to the camp from here."

The bad weather had passed, and the world outside was wet, the air had the strangely static smell that radstorms had. "I don't feel like walking on wet rocks at night," Boone said, because by now it was dark; a long time had passed underground. "Let's go back in and find the camp the other way."

Gunnar nodded. "Okay. We'll check on Halford and get something to eat."

~ ~ ~

"We found the rest of your squad." Gunnar held out the dog tags. "I'm sorry. It looks like you're the last survivor."

Halford shook his head. "Not worth it. To come up this godforsaken rock just to die? Where's the sense?"

"I know," Gunnar said. "I know it doesn't make sense and won't bring them back." He withdrew his hand upon seeing Halford had no intention of taking the dog tags. "Your leg's healing fine. In the morning we'll go down and get to Camp McCarran." 

~ ~ ~

Boone cooked up some food for the three of them, and they shared what news they had. Halford told his history of the camp, and Gunnar did what he could with the radio system, trying to get a signal from the NCR. "I think something's just not right here," he said at last. "Either it's broken, and I can't fix it, or it's not set up in the proper place to pick up the signal. Either way we'll have to report it when we get back." 

"We always had trouble with that thing," Halford said. "I'll be glad to see the back of this place."

~ ~ ~

Gunnar sat in a tent, writing in his diary. When they got back to Novac he'd have to pick up a new pencil. This one was nearly down to the nub. 

He glanced up at Boone's entrance. "Everything fine out there?"

"Yeah. Cleaned up and locked down." Boone took a seat at the other end of the mattress, resting an arm on one upraised knee. "Halford's asleep. I don't think anything will bother us during the night."

"Good. It might take longer to get back down that trail with his leg. I wish there was a faster way than walking."

Boone made a noise of agreement.

Gunnar finished writing, tucked the pencil into the diary's spine and set it into his pack. He began unlacing his boots. "I'm glad we've got an actual tent for the night. I'd take one with us but they're too big to carry."

"NCR might get mad about taking them." Boone removed his boots as well. 

"…Yeah, that too." Gunnar smirked. 

Gunnar finished getting ready for bed, spread out his bedroll atop the mattress to be a blanket, and looked up when Boone pushed another mattress next to his. "Boone?"

"I thought…" Boone set out his bedroll as well, then looked at Gunnar. 

Thought what? Gunnar looked down at the mattresses, then back up at Boone. "You mean — sleep together? Sleeping. Next to each other. Sure. That's, okay. Sure."

"If you don't — "

"No, that's, it's fine, just unexpected. It's fine." Gunnar shut off the lantern and got under his bedroll. Boone did the same.

They lay there, on their own separate-but-together mattresses, each in his own thoughts for a few agonizing minutes.

Gunnar felt nervous again, like back at Camp Forlorn Hope, but this was a different nervous. He wasn't sure what was going to happen, but at least he felt better about it. He folded his hands across his stomach.

Boone stared up at the tent ceiling. No turning back. He'd said he wouldn't. He meant it. Still didn't mean it was easy to do.

He hoped Gunn didn't want sex. Not tonight. Boone could only go so far tonight. With that in mind, Gunn seemed innocent of an awful lot. So it could go either way. Boone remembered bursting into the tent, the two of them leaning in together… 

The hell with it. Boone reached to put an arm around Gunnar. "C'mon," he said. "It's not your big bed in Novac, but — "

"I'm good." Gunnar rolled to face Boone and rest his head on the man's shoulder, one arm across Boone's chest. This felt better. No — it felt _right,_ someone's arm around him, someone to hold and be held by. His nerves calmed; this was fine. This was good.

Boone's nerves had not calmed. But it was okay. This was all Gunn wanted? It was okay. 

And it felt good, too, holding someone again. His heart still hurt a little when he thought of Carla, and he would never forget her. But he didn't want to be alone the rest of his life, now that he'd decided to keep living. 

He might still get hurt again someday. But for now he didn't. For now he felt like maybe, tonight, he wouldn't dream.

Gunnar seemed very comfortable like this. Boone realized it felt comfortable to him, too, and he wasn't nervous any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who is reading the story so far! There is still a long way to go and I hope you continue to enjoy it. :) Please spread the word, comment, leave kudos, fanart... ;)  
> 
> 
> [](https://laridian.smugmug.com/FNV/n-Hq8QXR/i-nVC2rNz/A)
> 
> Next Up: Part Three, A Broken Place in the Road. 


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